Young Writers Society

Your hand is warm and light against my skin. Lips meet to form passionate swells of emotion with each stroke of your soul against mine.
Your hair falls over your eyes, enveloping you with a dark halo.
Hands fumble, feeling for an anchor, something real.
Headlights glare across our haven, our sanctuary of cracked leather and soda cans. Sweat feels like heaven against my lips, making me think of whispered words and moonlight.
Heat, and love, and gasps for breath fill the air, windows fogging over, and every cell of my being reaches out to yours. I can almost see the sinews of my heart connecting with yours, winding and twisting to form one heart, one soul.
Maybe I’m coming undone. Maybe every time your lips graze my skin, another piece of my heart pulls away from my chest to rest in the comfort of your hands.
I remember the first time I ever told you that I loved you. We were in your bedroom, sitting on the floor. The only light came from the windows, turning everything gold as the sun went down. Papers and plastic cups littered the floor; loose change and dirty laundry lounged together in each crack and crevice. I spelled it out for you there on my hands, holding it up for you to see. I did not speak, in fear the words would make me tremble, in fear that you didn’t want to hear them. Somehow, the distance between us ceased to exist, and the only distance left was the layers of skin that separated our souls. The words smeared, but the impact remained.
I remember the first time we kissed. We were there on the floor, cuddling close. Snow was falling outside, patting softly against the window. Our hands were entwined, your hair brushing against my cheek. I pressed gentle fingers against your neck, our eyes meeting for just a moment before I broke through the silence with a heart shattering kiss that echoed through our souls for miles. Every ounce of love I had ever felt poured out in the one kiss, colliding with the love that you gave in return, mingling and exchanging until we were left with my heart in your hands, and yours in mine.
But now, as we lay here, with headlights falling over us, curled beneath a blanket, our sneakers shoved beneath the seat and the only thing keeping us warm is the way you kiss me, the way body wraps around mine, I feel that love from all of those years ago. I feel the way your heart skips a beat whenever I kiss the hollow of your throat. I feel the way you shudder when ever I run a gentle finger down your chest.
We won’t go home tonight. We won’t lie alone in separate beds, in separate houses, in separate towns. We have these moments together, in the dark, with the only hint of reality lying in the glow of the headlights that streak against the windshield, revealing my hand in yours, and our lips acting as passageways from one heart, my heart, to yours.

Hi there!

I liked this piece a lot. You put a lot of emotion into it and it definitely paid off. Your descriptions are great and you did a good job transitioning from 'the now' to a memory and back. Your grammer and spelling is good as well. There's really only one thing I had to correct:

Lips meet to form passionate swells of emotion with each stroke of your soul against mine.

I know what you're trying to say in the underlined phrase, but it just sounds awkward to me.

Headlights glare across our haven, our sanctuary of cracked leather and soda cans.

I love this! It made me laugh because I know it's so true!

Overall this was really good. Keep writing!

Very descriptive and nicely writen, I loved it because I can relate to the story. It's very unique and full of it's own kind of spice! Now to the nit picks. Obviously there aren't very many because it's a short story but anyhowheart, to yours.

tydecker777 wrote:We have these moments together, in the dark, with the only hint of reality lyingI believe the correct grammer for this line would be laying instead of lying

tydecker777 wrote: I feel the way you shudder when ever[color=#FF4000]whenever I run a gentle finger down your chest.

[/color] in the glow of the headlights that streak against the windshield, revealing my hand in yours, and our lips acting as passageways from one heart, my heart, to yours.

This was quite a joy to read. While I'm a bit, ah, pretentious maybe, I still enjoyed it. I tend to feel fussy when I read something that doesn't have a strict story structure. I dare say this is prose poetry, perhaps. At the beginning I was wanting to say, "where is the story?" but then, I quite like it as it is, you know? It is what it is, and it has its beauty.

I like the way you describe the sexuality; powerful, but not overly erotic either, making it appropriate even for the youngin's. Knowing how well spirits do mingle, I felt a lot with this piece.

There was only one section I felt truly troubled by:

But now, as we lay here

with the "but" I was expecting some kind of content contradiction. Would she find she did not love him as much? that the physical contact was meaningless? but there wasn't any contradiction in emotion. Perhaps "and" would suit you better?

Best of luck.

Such a beautiful picture, and familiar too. Even if someone has never been in that specific scenario, they could feel as though they have. I love the detail and I could tell that you were writing from the heart of a personal experience. That is something very, very valuable. Don't ever lose your personal connection to your words. It's such an endearing trait, and really adds beauty and soul to a piece. Keep up the good work!

~Jess