At the peak we saw the world for what it really was. We stood as tall as gods and allowed the sun to bake our bodies. All of our problems disappeared, and even though it was only for a second, we remembered what it was like to be happy(more) again.
We had no idea why dad had taken us on this hiking trip, nor did we care. It had been three years since he had left mom, and ever since then all he had been doing was trying to buy my brother's and my love. My brother loved it, but I saw through the thick clouds of bullshit he tried to subtly wrap around our eyes, blinding us from the truth.
He looked back at me and smiled. "You okay Sean?" I smiled back and nodded, making an effort to catch up to him and my brother. "Sean, hurry up!" My little brother skipped around my father with a gleeful smile on his face. He had always been the athletic one.
After what seemed like hours we stopped. "We are here guys!" My dad took a deep breath and spread his arms wide. Something seemed different about him. He was surrounded by an air of genuineness. "Sean, this is the peak where I came when my parents got divorced. I am sorry you are going through this, but the peak is a place you can come to and forget about me, and be happy."
At the peak we saw the world for what it really was. We stood as tall as gods and allowed the sun to bake our bodies. All of our problems disappeared, and even though it was only for a second, we remembered what it was like to be happy again.
She hated the hair on her neck. Every morning she would wake up and wax it, as if the red marks on her face were a better alternative.
"I'm like an animal!" she would scream in the mirror, thinking that I couldn't hear her, that I was aslee(more)p while she groomed herself and cut down her self-supplied insecurities.
She could not possibly begin to understand how much those little patches of fur meant to me. When I called her my duckling, "muy pipka", it was not because she was cute, but because of the fuzz on the bottom of her chin... And she was really cute.
At night when I had my terrors, I would wake up and nuzzle myself in her fur, matting it with tears, as if the little hairs could soak up my fear. I kissed them in the morning before she woke up, and then acted like I was asleep when she finally came to.
Those warm and fuzzy hairs were the world to me. I woke up in the morning for those hairs, I lived for those hairs, and at night I dreamt of those hairs. If she knew about my guilty obsession, my fetish that I indulged in so much, she would only hate them more.
So my relationship with the warm and fuzzy hairs stays a secret, and I am the only one who will ever enjoy the feeling of euphoria that I achieved when I buried myself in them. They were safety, and they were home, and I cherished every second I spent in their loving embrace. (less)