Mitchell's Mustard Blog

March 25, 2014

A little teaser of a love story called ‘Max and Lola’

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:45 pm

Sleep didn’t seem to be an option for Max, he was happy, he was comfortable, but his mind wouldn’t rest. He didn’t want to move, she was sound asleep next to him, he was jealous. He laid facing her, taking in every curve, every feature of her face. She smiled in her sleep, he wondered where her dreams had taken her, maybe thoughts of him. He found it hard to believe that a few months ago they had never met, never spoken. Now she consumed his existence, controlled his breathing, she was the string master to his puppet. He watched as her chest rose and fell, he could see her pulse bouncing under the skin of her neck. Even in sleep, her hair curled behind her ear, a curtain for her pale cheek. Her lips slightly parted, she didn’t snore, but her breathing was heavy, heavy enough for him to know she had slipped away for the rest of the evening. The timed intake and exhale had become a soothing sound to him, crashing against the walls and rolling back towards them, it left him scared of the silence. In their short time together he had got used to her, relied on her, like some people do with the sounds of a crashing ocean, or a waterfall. In such a short period of time, she had comfortably become his surroundings, his comfort zone. Like most men, in his eyes it was his role to keep her safe, but in all honesty, it was Lola that kept him safe, safe from himself. Before he had met her he was happy to be alone, drifting in and out of the lives of others without a concern, it was moments like these that made him realise what he had been missing. What others craved, living their lives for the moment he now possessed. As she made slight movements in her sleep, unwinding from the covers, it unravelled the different parts of her as he watched. Tracing his eyes over the tattoos on her forearm, which without words expressed her rebellious side, the side of her that built walls so she couldn’t get attached, couldn’t care, could drift without an anchor. A side that he could relate too.


Leave a Comment »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Blog at

%d bloggers like this: