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Iceland x Fridge: forbidden love
Iceland was alone in his home. There was a breeze coming in through the open window in his kitchen, sending shivers down his spine and causing his brown jacket to flutter in the breeze, like a delicate plastic bag caught in an updraft.
aw shit it's getting poetic up in here.
Iceland walked towards the kitchen, enjoying the sound of his lace up boots against his wooden floors. The sound echoed through the whole house, reminding him of the emptiness. He pushed the thought away.
He stood at the window, looking out at his Icelandic
manscapelandscape, full of mountains and valleys and lots of....other big things. He pulled the window shut with a defining thud. The house was quite, except for a familiar humming noise. Iceland whirled around, and that's when he saw it.
His heart was pounding in his chest and a blush graced his pale cheeks. The ones on his face, not his glorious butt cheeks.
Their eyes met, and it felt as if the fridge was looking into the depths
Only Cowards Quit: PruCanThe sharp wind whipped Matthew's hair around his head but it didn't bother him. He closed his eyes as the tears fell. He swiped a sleeve across his face and opened his eyes again looking up to the dark sky. He looked back down at the space beneath him. 200 feet below the passing cars looked minuscule, little lights that flew past, blurring with the tears that had formed again.
Matthew let out an exasperated sigh before resuming his pacing once more. His brain brought him back to Alfred. What would he do if he went through with this? Arthur wouldn't even be the same, let alone Alfred. Then his mind became the cruel thing it really was; Alfred pushing him aside harshly to get to something, Alfred laughing at him, Alfred forgetting about him. Alfred didn't care about him. No one cared about him.
That's it. Matthew knew what he had to do now. He stepped up to the edge and looked down once more. The only thing he could think of right now was the bother he would be to the people walking belo
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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