Just a snippet of Tears For August :)

Before

None of it felt normal. Not even a damn bit. Not ever.

August had led me into his house where everything was completely organized from the beginning of the room to the ends. The interior of his house was somewhat classy but minimal, especially the pale taupe color he chose for the walls. Once you entered his house, the first place you’ll be walking in was the living room with its low ceiling. At the ceiling there were 4 recessed light fixtures placed in the living room and a built cobble stone fireplace at the east where the couch and a large brown carpet was also placed. His floor was made of matte wood-like vinyl and at the left wall, there was a built-in large pipe bookshelf, filled with hardbound books.

Once my eyes caught the pipe bookshelf, I was quickly astonished that made me rush in front of it. My finger had traced the spine of his warm hardcover, it felt rough. The book was written by Edgar Allan Poe. 

    “I love that book,” August mumbled as I felt him in my back. 

    “You love Edgar Allan Poe?” I questioned as I settled down my finger and faced him.

He smirked, as he walk closer to me‒invading my personal space. “His death was a mystery.” He answered. And there, we froze for a while, silence for us became inevitable and then, it just started to bother me. “Have you read his work?” He questioned as he walked beside me with his eyes on his hardbound books, gazing through the old dusty fabrics of his covers.

     “The Cask of Amontillado.” I replied as I pulled out one of books by Edgar Allan Poe that he owned. It was a collection of Edgar’s work in a leather bound. I briefly took a sniff from the book and I could already tell he owned this for a long time. I had decided to recite one of the famous quotes from The Cask of Amontillado at the time I caught his eyes looking at me. “A million candles had burned themselves out. Still I read on.”

A smirk had slowly grown on his face revealing his dimple that making him look majestic. He was charismatic and different from all the guys I knew. His scent had lingered around my mind as if it was one of the poems I’ve read. His scent was one of the things I enjoy as well as the pleasure of caressing the warm pages of a novel. And for that reason, I slowly questioned myself.  

I felt walked behind me, with his scent still attached to him. I attentively moved my head at his direction where I caught him once again. He was looking at me.

Before

None of it felt normal. Not even a damn bit. Not ever.

August had led me into his house where everything was completely organized from the beginning of the room to the ends. The interior of his house was somewhat classy but minimal, especially the pale taupe color he chose for the walls. Once you entered his house, the first place you’ll be walking in was the living room with its low ceiling. At the ceiling there were 4 recessed light fixtures placed in the living room and a built cobble stone fireplace at the east where the couch and a large brown carpet was also placed. His floor was made of matte wood-like vinyl and at the left wall, there was a built-in large pipe bookshelf, filled with hardbound books.

Once my eyes caught the pipe bookshelf, I was quickly astonished that made me rush in front of it. My finger had traced the spine of his warm hardcover, it felt rough. The book was written by Edgar Allan Poe. 

    “I love that book,” August mumbled as I felt him in my back. 

    “You love Edgar Allan Poe?” I questioned as I settled down my finger and faced him.

He smirked, as he walk closer to me‒invading my personal space. “His death was a mystery.” He answered. And there, we froze for a while, silence for us became inevitable and then, it just started to bother me. “Have you read his work?” He questioned as he walked beside me with his eyes on his hardbound books, gazing through the old dusty fabrics of his covers.

     “The Cask of Amontillado.” I replied as I pulled out one of books by Edgar Allan Poe that he owned. It was a collection of Edgar’s work in a leather bound. I briefly took a sniff from the book and I could already tell he owned this for a long time. I had decided to recite one of the famous quotes from The Cask of Amontillado at the time I caught his eyes looking at me. “A million candles had burned themselves out. Still I read on.”

A smirk had slowly grown on his face revealing his dimple that making him look majestic. He was charismatic and different from all the guys I knew. His scent had lingered around my mind as if it was one of the poems I’ve read. His scent was one of the things I enjoy as well as the pleasure of caressing the warm pages of a novel. And for that reason, I slowly questioned myself.  

I felt walked behind me, with his scent still attached to him. I attentively moved my head at his direction where I caught him once again. He was looking at me.