Praline Ice Cream

I was in a mood so I decided to try something way different than what I normally write. This is a first draft.

I love you.

I love your voice.

I love the way it sounds when you sing to me. Even when it cracks, though I know it annoys you. It cracks metallic, and you scrunch up your nose at the.

 Jaggedness.

 But it calms. And the music rolls off your tongue as you pluck the strings of your guitar. One.      Two. You tap your foot to the beat. A thousand and fifty-two times since I met you. Tapping. Soft rubber against linoleum. Adidas. Red you told me.

 Once.   And the chair scrapes backwards. Shrill on the linoleum. And the soft rubber taps. Three steps forward.               Turn. And you reach across to fix my hair. Make it pretty. Make me pretty. Silly thing you. But I don’t mind. I like it when you play with. My hair. The product of two older sisters you told me. But it’s not girly. I love the way your hands feel. And the calluses on the tips of your fingers tickle when you brush the hair out of my face. Monday. Wednesday.

Saturday. A week beginning. A weekend. And you play the guitar. And I love your voice. Smooth like praline ice cream. Which tasted so good on a summer day. Or evening. Anytime was good for praline ice cream. Blue. I think you wear the color blue. It sounds right. Like the tap of your shoes on the floor around me. And sometimes. Sometimes  you  tap  to  the  time  of  the  beeps. Drowning their army march with soft melodies. Thank you. Thank you for. Singing to me. I wish I could sing. I wish I could’ve. Made those swirling caramel notes.           And eaten more praline ice cream. I wish I could’ve with you. And I can hear you smile.

Even when I go to sleep.

 And it drowns out the sound of the beeps. For a little while. I’ll remember. As long as I can. The way you sang. And brushed my hair. The warmth of your hands. I know the beeps will end soon.

                      But.

I will miss you.

 I think. I hope. I’m scared. Of not loving you. Of missing Mondays. And Wednesdays. And Saturdays.  Not today. I wish you could hold me right now. What is the color of your eyes. I think they are blue. It sounds right. And it’s so                                                                    

quiet.

 

Author's Note

What do you think of the style/set-up? Is it too weird or out there?