The pillow where you laid your head.
The smell of you still haunts my bed.
And as I fall asleep to dream.
I wonder how things could have been.

Intentions of us were not clear,
I did not want love to appear.
And now I feel there’s only you.
But loneliness will have to do.

It hurts that you’re not in my arms.
It hurts that I can’t keep you from harm.
I can learn to love again.
Someday you will forget my name.

I place my hand where I held you near.
And now I know what it is to fear.
Love always seems to have a cost.
Without you in my life I’m lost.

So long as you have happiness.
I’ll at least have semi-bliss.
You’ll always be inside my heart.
It’s been that way right from the start.

Tears I have are bound to stain.
Memories of the pain.
No matter how long, I feel the same.
I cannot win, this is love’s game.

This is not goodbye, nor is it hello.
I just know that I have got to go.
Hopefully my love will fade away,
But I fear you’re in my heart to stay.

Davie Magill




I just want to keep on breathing
But it’s hard, thinking of you
The tightness in my chest,
I can’t go on I need a rest
From the way I feel about you every day

I wish that time could go back
To the start to start again
I’d try so hard not to fall
But I know I’d fall into this pain

Why do I try to fight the way I feel
I’m already gone, somewhere lost in your eyes
And it feels the only option is to sever ties
To say goodbyes

But I can’t go on
How do I move forward without you
And why do I keep falling back
One day I can take it, the next a torture rack

And it’s tearing me apart, limb by limb
Because I’m reaching with my arms
and you’re always too far away
To hold you like I dream

To whisper in your ear
To tell you every fear
And the biggest one is just to say
I feel

Davie Magill

The Shattered Dreams of Broken Future Memories

The Shattered Dreams of Broken Future Memories

It wasn’t love that broke my heart. It was dreaming. I’m a dreamer. I was born in wonderland, fell out of the rabbit hole aged 11 days, 7 hours, 17 minutes and 37 seconds. Only to be collected by a stork, who soon passed me on to a new family. God’s own private courier, who wraps each of us up, and delivers us itself, stamped, packaged and addressed all in a single strand of DNA.

Maybe I’m as mad as a hatter, maybe I’m as crazy as the queen of hearts herself. But perhaps babies cry when they’re born because they’re heartbroken. We all are. Fuelled by past lives, filled with love, and hurt. Only to die one day of a broken heart, before being cast back to earth for one last try. We all deserve love. But heartache explains people who have issues with trust, heartache explains why with the first breath of life we cry, and why we hold our first love so dear; they fix us.

“I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date.”

Maybe we all are. Maybe we all should have been born just a little earlier, just to spend ever so slightly longer; with whoever we may love. I’m a dreamer, just like Alice, falling back down the rabbit hole. I’m a dreamer; and dreaming broke my heart.

Dreaming of what might be, what could be, what I might feel should have been. Plans for the future, plans for whatever lies ahead, you and me. Together in my dreamland. Wonderland.

But dreams aren’t based on reality. Dreams are so easily crushed. It wasn’t love that broke my heart. It was the shattered dreams of broken future memories. Ever since we were children we were taught we could achieve our dreams; and nothing fuels dreaming more than love.

I was brought up on a fairy tale. Taught by every Disney princess I’d find my prince. I dreamed. Maybe if I had dreamed just a little harder I’d still have him, whoever he may be. I’ve loved and lost, princes, paupers, kings. Taught that dreams are as fragile as bubbles, you gotta just put your hands out and hold it because if you hold too tight…*pop*…

I love love. Love always gave me hope. Love always told me my dreams can and will come true. But when I broke my heart I blamed love, when all I really was was heartbroken over broken dreams. So to each and every one of you. I might have loved, and who I’ve lost. My dreams may have changed now. But my love cannot be lost.

So I’ll sit here dreaming. Of the love that might have been. Right down deep in wonderland; playing wonderland croquet, with queen.

Davie Magill

Want vs Sense; Sense vs Butterflies 

Want vs Sense; Sense vs Butterflies 

I know what this feeling is. Letting go.
I’ve felt it before. This inner struggle of want and sense.
Your heavy heart fighting the butterflies in your stomach.
That heavy heart overflowing with the tears you wish you could weep.
But you just don’t have the strength to cry.

I wish those butterflies would drown.
As morbid as that thought may be.
Because if they were gone, my heavy heart would have nothing to dampen.
And perhaps then I could go on to someone new.

Even if they flew away, far away.
Or even close enough to catch them.
Label the jar “fragile do not touch.”
Or “Harmful and Hazardous: Avoid contact with heart.”

I wish I didn’t have them but they’re the closest thing I have to you.
Maybe that’s why I’m holding on.
I just don’t want to let you go.
So I stand there, holding back the tears.
Not because I’m scared to cry, but to prevent them drowning butterflies.

Sense tells me to move on. Time and time again.
Long before my misery.
Do I listen?
Do I fuck.
But I knew it was there, and you’d think that would prepare you for an emotional suicide. But no.
Note to self, “butterflies kick senses butt. Get rid of butterflies.”

“In my dreams.”
What we say when something can’t be true.
It must be why when I’m in my dreams I’m with you.
We can’t happen. Not only because I don’t want it to, but because- well.
That would be more than just a silly poem.

I wish I could cry. Crying might get it out.
But all I can muster is tears in my eyes.
Which sting as I walk through the cold night air.
Wandering aimlessly, looking at the stars in the sky.
Hoping that at least some of them spell out goodbye.
Because that word just doesn’t seem to exist.

And why? Why? Why?
I ask over and over.
Why do you do this to yourself? Time and again.
Butterflies. Butterflies is why.
I wish sometimes there was no such thing as love.
No searching, no hoping, no believing it’s out there.
No attachment, no hurting, no drowning butterflies.

Because love and butterflies are one and the same.
They start of small and grow larger.
They’re both colourful and wild.
They’re fragile when you have them.
And too often they just fly away.
Who knew eh?
Sense did.
Did I listen?
Did I fuck.

I just wanted you to hold me. Still do.
Always the person you can’t have, always the one you need more than anyone.
And I just want to let them go.
Just watch them fly, float on by.
For the sake of a crappy rhyme.
Because I just don’t have the time.
Because my diary is full of butterflies.

Fucking butterflies.

Davie Magill


I never wanted to put this one up. I never thought I would, but it was a part of my past, the same as all the others. And tonight feels like the right night out of all of them.


I don’t even know how to say it. Those first three letters of your name trapped on my tongue, because I’m so upset I stutter when I speak, even more than usual.

“Cal, Cal, Cal” falling from my tongue like raindrops in the wind. Blowing my hope away; and no matter how much I try I just can’t get it out, and those tears begin to trickle down my face.

I know it was my fault you said goodbye. I know that we’re a not so distant memory trapped inside the archives of my heart. Filed under C. A C drive that’s been filled so many times with all those happy memories of us.

I never wanted to fight. I just wanted to talk and hold your hand, I wanted to squeeze on tight whenever I was hurt or sad. I needed you, I still do, in one way or another. Just so you can help me say your name.

“Cal, C-C-Cal, C-Cal,” it still won’t come. It still won’t leave my tongue, but it’s written in these tears dripping on this page I write on now. Because just thinking of your name reduces me to tears. And each Cal seems to represent a fragment of this broken heart.

I lift those teddies you gave to me. We named them after us. C-Cal, and D-Davie. Two bears that still love each other. Two bears who once brought comfort to these shaking hands. Nothing. I still can’t say your name.

I need a walk, so I lift my keys and the wallet you gave me. A Christmas present. Those tears begin to pour onto the soft worn leather. Worn because I frequented it so often, looking at the picture of your little face trapped inside. Each visit a step back to a memory. A memory of you and me forever preserved by pictures of that time.

I take it out and sit. Staring at your smile. Those brown eyes staring back at me. I see a love you don’t have now. That little smile, a smile that I can still remember, like looking through a window into yesterday. A smile my smile visited too little of the time. Drip. Now that smile distorted, by my tear ending time.

I scrunch it up in my hand. And I bow over. Because I can’t raise myself it hurts so deep inside. Because if I knew then, what I know now, I’d have never let you go. “C-Cal,” I’d have never let you go, I’d hold you in my arms forever, you and I, frozen in time. With you I could sit and write, word for word, how I loved you, rhyme after rhyme.

I still can. I still love you C-Cal. But I miss you. I miss the times you made me laugh, I miss how we could speak and you seemed to make everything better. I miss having you here because the truth is. I’m scared.

I’m scared of what will happen. I’m scared of my health and my heart not holding out. I’m scared of my home, and whether or not I’ll have a place to stay come the end of the year. I’m scared of college and this new adventure and education that awaits me.

I’m scared of losing you. A friend, a best friend long before a partner. I’m scared of losing that. And I’m scared of facing everything without you. Just because you made everything okay. You were a comfort. You were everything I ever needed, everything I ever wanted, and someone I cherished and loved so much.

But what scares me most of all. What scares me more than anything. Is not being able to say your name. “C-Cal”, please. Help me say it. If even for a moment. If even you could hold my hand, and tell me, “Everything’s gonna be okay,” just say it, just so I can say “Goodbye, C-Cal”.

I sit there, those tears dripped down my shirt, only on me an hour ago. Already ruined. You liked this shirt. You always did. And you liked these jeans, and you liked that cardigan, that jumper, this aftershave, this, that, everything. Everything reminds me of you.

“C-Cal,” I can’t. I can’t say it, and I can’t go on like this. I just can’t take it anymore. I never thought love could ever cause this. A feeling so simple, so beautiful, but a feeling that can shatter a heart in an instant. I hate myself for causing this.

Maybe I’m just seeking to blame someone else. Maybe that’s why I tried to blame you and I know I was wrong. Because it feels like it was all my fault. I’m the cause of my own misery; and writing this has just opened my eyes to all those problems there between us, problems I caused.

But I’ll never read this back, and I’ll never know what I did, because every time I go to pull the page, it breaks. Made fragile by these tears that seem to want to erase you, from each cranny of my heart. And it’s pulling me apart, because I never wanted to let you go.

Now I must go. Because I’m done, my chest aches from all I’ve done. My body bent and broken by this shattered heart, which was smashed when I seemingly gave you the hammer and said “Go on, give it your best shot.”

Maybe that’s what being human is. Not that you make mistakes. Not that we’re all the same. Maybe being human is the fact that we feel like concrete when it comes to love. I once thought my love could never move. But I know now, my love was as fragile as a dove.

Now fluttering away. Now escaping from this pain, this life, through the only way I know how. Getting lost in my writing until it all just becomes too much, using each line to bring me closer and closer to my knees. Heart beating faster and faster, then falling to a crunch.

And as I hit the floor I can almost hear those pieces of my heart, spilt across the floor, echoing like a falling chandelier, breaking into a million un-fixable pieces, that can only be fixed by one word.

But as I go, I go to say it, and the words won’t come. I stutter. Because trapped on my tongue are those first three letters of your name. The word that just won’t come. “C-C-Cal” and then I slowly whisper, “Goodbye”

David Magill

Library Prologue

So a few of you might know that a couple of years ago I attended a creative writing group. At the writing group we decided to start a group project. I wrote the prologue. It’s just a bit of fun, but I thought it might be worth sharing. Hope you enjoy!

Library Prologue 

“Shall we get on with the group then?” said the librarian, turning to look at the small group that surrounded him. He was sat on a main seat, with 6 chairs around him in a relatively round circle. He could imagine himself as a viking king and had the beard to go with it. He was the head of his round table; and the library, his castle. Tullycarnet Castle! He looked at his army of six waiting for them to bring fourth their latest offerings from the other realms. In reality however he was waiting for one of them to present to him a piece which they had written at home. No-one spoke up. Now resorting to names the king gauged an almost threatening tone of voice, perhaps wanting to make an example of one of his soldiers; or maybe he was just fed up with everyone bringing nothing to read.

“I eh.. I eh.. Have eh, a,” one of the younger lads spoke. There were two of them at this group of six. Two best friends who knew each other well and were ready to overthrow this King given first opportunity.

“You have a…?” questioned the librarian.
“I… I, have a piece,” spoke the young lad, “another chapter.”
“Well! Read it,” snapped his King.

The young lad took his phone from his pocket. Pressing the button at the bottom, frantically panicking as the pressure mounted from the flickering eyes all staring at him. It was to no avail.

“It’s, uh, it’s, it’s dead.”
“Didn’t I tell you! Those electronic things are a nuisance! You must write with pen!”

Perhaps the King’s crown was safe afterall. He scowled at the boy who dared speak and not have any work. Taking out his pipe and in a single puff he put the group under his spell as they sat mesmerised as the sinister white smoke invaded their personal space. The librarian put the electronic pipe back into his pocket and carried on with his discussion.

“Does nobody have anything to read?”

One of the two older women spoke up, this one being the more elderly of the two. Her name was Hazel. She was frail at first glance; although given longer looking at her it might suggest that she was once a great warrior of battle, a powerful figurehead, perhaps a strong woman who had a great place in history. Yes. It was plain to everyone that Hazel was the mighty Joan of Arc!

Hazel prepared to wage battle with the king; taking out her sword and shield. Opening her journal she flicked through the many poems that she had written across the many years of her life. Each one a sonnet, an accompaniment to war, the theme tune of anarchy! Finally she raised her great sword and it met with the page. Writing with the biro in her hand she jotted down the day’s date.

“I think I’ll read this one.”

She grabbed her bag, perhaps reaching for a secret enchantment, perhaps a secret weapon! Perhaps this was the moment the tide would turn! And the King would become the customer! Finally after a long and deep search into the depths of the abyss she pulled out a pair of reading spectacles! These were her secret weapon, as she prepared herself to enter this savage duel with the King!

“I just need to put these on, they help me hear,” she proclaimed. It was a sentence that made little sense, but it was to be believed as she squinted at the pages that sat in her hands.

The poem was a great sonnet about birds. She weaved a beautiful tapestry in the mind, creating colours and images that flowed; cutting down the powerful king with each sweeping turn of her tongue. This was Joan of Arc of old, and Hazel at her best!

Breathing heavily the surrounding five members in the group took applause when Hazel finished her duel. They were awestruck at the battle that had taken place before them. Fixated at the King’s face, trying to read any flicker of emotion hidden beneath his bushy beard.

“That was… Sweet,” said the King mounting his first line of defence.

“It was beautiful,” claimed Morning, the other elderly member.

The librarian leant back, combing his beard with his fingers. Hazel looked around the group for approval, hoping that her braveness could inspire another member to read a piece out loud.

Yet reality struck, this was not a middle age battle. This was a library in the middle of Dundonald, on the day of the end of the world. Nobody had any reason to battle, it was time to team up. Time to mount a defence and time to battle the evil forces that were bringing about the end of this planet, and time itself. There was no king, no Joan, no battle. This was simply, the Creative Writing Group getting ready to duel the forces of evil in a Poetry Slam. In a large, empty library, with nothing but themselves, and a few thousand books.

Suddenly the lights flickered, teasing each member as they almost went out. In that moment of panic everyone turned to look outside, searching for light. Nothing. The world had turned to darkness, the only light seen was from the sky as lightning echoed and clattered amongst the clouds.

“The end is neigh,” said Peter, a male member of the group.
“Neigh?” questioned the librarian.
“Nay!” said Davie, the other younger member butting in.
“Nigh!” said Leon, the younger member who had attempted to read previously.
“Yes! Nigh!” repeated Peter again, “the end is nigh.”

David Magill

Christian 1

For those of you around long enough to remember the story of Christian from my old blog. I am starting again and re-writing and releasing the chapters. Whilst they’ll still be edited again eventually, they’re the first draft of the story for now. Hope you all enjoy.

Christian 1

It all started that cold November night, back when I was younger. I was at youth group with a friend of mine. We went to it each week together for 2 years. He was my best friend, and I could never have asked for a better friend at the time. I remember shouting at him across the busy youth hall. “Nathan! I’m headed home if you want to come with?” The hall was in pandemonium. Boys playing on the pool tables, bouncing basketballs or playing football. Girls watching those boys, eating sweets and gossiping. It was a typical Friday evening. Nathan was the coolest guy in the room, nothing phased him. Not the basketballs flying over his head, not the girls whispering behind their hands and pointing at him, not the guys all shouting his name. He just smiled and winked at everyone, completely composed and charming anyone who caught his eye.
            He turned and gave me a nod of acknowledgement as he began to bounce a ball up from the ground. The bang echoed in the hall amongst the squeaks of shoes as rubber soles slid across the glossy wooden floor. Nathan spun and threw the ball, turning away as it glided through the air. He seemed to do it in seconds, but the ball seemed to move in slow motion as it made its way over the many heads below. There was a swoosh followed by several smacks as it bounced against the wood. He made the shot. “Come on then, can’t stand there gawking all day,” he laughed brushing past me. I turned and followed him, shaking my head in disbelief.
            Nathan had me gripped. I had always felt this way about him and I didn’t know why. I admired him, I always had. He was loyal, always finding time for a friend in need. He was cocky and confident, managing to get a number, or a tongue down his throat after talking to any girl. He was smart, funny, always up for a laugh. He had been my best friend since we were little, the two of us were inseparable. Perhaps it was his unpredictability, not knowing what he was going to do next. He was always full of surprises, like any cocky show-off. Then there was his physical appearance. He was good-looking. His hair always sat perfectly, this beautiful shade of dark brown with lighter shades here and there; shorter on the sides, slightly longer on the top and always sitting up and to the left. These beautiful blue eyes which always seemed bluer whenever he was showing off or when something mischievous crossed his mind. Broad shoulders, tight chest, and a cheeky grin that seemed to be the centrepiece of his irresistible charm.
            We reached the hill I lived on, a single dead-ended street with houses up either side. My house was on the peak of the hill and it always left us out of breath walking up to it. Especially on these cold winter evenings. Nathan was walking me home as he always did, before making his own way home to a street about fifteen minutes away. This week though my parents were away. It was their anniversary and they were away for a few days, due to be back on the Sunday morning. The automatic light sensed us as we entered the driveway, illuminating our path down to the porch.
            “You want to head on home?” I asked, “It is getting dark.”
            “I thought I was coming over here for a nightcap!” he joked.
            “You can if you want, nobody will know any alcohol is missing.”
            “Go on then,” he said gesturing towards the door as that cheeky grin crossed his face.
            I put my key in the door which clicked as I turned it anti-clockwise. I pushed the handle down and opened the door into my empty home. The hallway was dark and I began wandering towards the light switch as Nathan closed the door behind us. I expected him to jump on me in the dark, or try and scare me in some way. Had he been younger he’d have hauled me to the ground and playfully punched or nipped my sides. The light came on above us, a dull orange glow that was barely a resolution to the darkness. Nathan took off his coat and hung it over the handle on cloakroom door, he was familiar with my house having been to it many times before so knew he could make himself at home.
            “What shall we start off with then?”
            “Vodka?” Nathan asked.
            “Okay, yeah, we should have some vodka,” I said opening the drinks cabinet. I found the bottle and took two shot glasses out of the cupboard to the side. I set them on the dining room table, and poured out two shots; one being significantly fuller than the other.
            “That one’s yours!” he laughed.
            “What? No, it was your idea!”
            Nathan quickly lifted the smaller shot and downed it. He was silent for a second as he tried not to screw up his face or spit it out.
            “Your turn!” he answered cheekily.
            “Oh fuck you!”
            I lifted the shot and poured the contents into my mouth, trying to force the vile taste down my throat. I couldn’t. Not even my throat wanted the bitter liquid and I felt that two things could happen. I spit it out all over Nathan and my dining room or I run to the kitchen sink. I settled with the latter.
            “Never again!” I shouted at him between spits.
            “You not like it then?” he replied sarcastically. I could even picture his smug little face in my mind.
            “Fuck you! Seriously!”
            We both laughed. I took two glasses out of the cupboard and opened the fridge, searching for something to get the taste out of our mouths. I found two ice cold Colas in the door and took them out and carried them into the living room where Nathan was already sat, texting away to someone on his phone.
            “It’s half ten Nathan, you can’t see the neighbours’ houses for how dark it is. You sure you don’t want to get going? What is your mum going to say?”
            “I suppose I better actually.” He set down the can he was about to open and got up walking towards the hall. I followed him, staring at everything he did. How he put on his coat, how he checked his phone before putting it back into his pocket. He was fascinating.
            “What?” he questioned looking back at me.
            “What? Uh, nothing, nothing at all,” I snapped out of my gaze.
            “Didn’t your mum tell you it was rude to stare?” he grinned. I grinned back turning towards the door to let him out.
            Before I opened it we gave each other our usual hug before we parted ways. The hug lasted a little longer than usual and we lingered in each other’s arms. Sensing that this might have been a little uncomfortable I questioned him, “Come on, get home before it gets any colder.”
            I opened the door, feeling a rush of cold air invade the house. He leant in again for another hug, this time placing his right hand on the back of my head. He leant back and looked at me, tightening his grip on the back of my head as he did. Our breaths were now visible as they waged war between us in the cold night air.
            “You better get going,” I said panicked. I felt his left hand gentle pull the bottom of my shirt. I leant in, now forehead to forehead we stared into each other’s eyes. His left hand slowly made its way up and rested on my chest. Pushing me away yet holding me to stay. I looked down at it. He lifted it and tucked his finger under my chin before slowly raising my head to look at his. My eyes were moving in frenzy, focusing on his lips I tried to control myself and look away or at another part of his face.
            “Nate-,” I whispered.
            We leant in towards one another, our lips meeting as it felt they should. We started to kiss, slowly and tenderly before becoming more and more breathless and passionate. He still had grip on the back of my head, and I found my right hand gripping him just the same.
            We stopped and looked at each other forehead to forehead like we were before, still gripped in each other’s hands. Slowly we let go and distanced from one another.
            “I better go, it’s getting dark,” he said sounding upset, before turning and walking hurriedly up the driveway.
            I wanted to call after him but I stopped myself. I had no idea what had just happened. I closed the door and wandered to the living room and sat down before getting out my phone to text him.

11:07 {Hey, do you want to talk about it?)
            (What the fuck was that about?} 11:08
11:08 {I don’t know Nathan, maybe it was the shots. It doesn’t have to mean anything)
            (Mean anything? It was you who kissed me Christian.} 11:10
11:11 {Kissed you? Nathan you had me by the back of my head. That took two of us)
            (Oh go fuck yourself Christian. I had nothing to do with it. Leave me the fuck alone} 11:13

            I threw my phone to the side. I didn’t want to look at it, nor did I want to talk to him. He grabbed me. And what the hell even was that? Were we drunk? Do we like each other? No. It was the drink. We’re both straight. Nathan had been with girls. So had I. He even gave me the friends of some of the girls he managed to get with. No. It was definitely the drink.
            I sat there not knowing what to do, who to talk to about it. I mean what would most of our friends think if I turned around and told them Nathan and I had been tongue wrestling after a drink we had and now we’re no longer speaking. They would probably not talk to us either.
            Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. An hour passed. I still stayed sat there, staring into empty space. Not really thinking anything. It was coming up to half twelve and I was getting tired; I felt my eyes becoming heavy and bed was calling me. I got out of the chair wandering to the bathroom. I’d worry about the drinks on the table in the morning not to mention Nathan, for now I just wanted to brush my teeth and get into bed.
            I stepped out into the hallway and began walking to the bathroom. Just as I was about to turn the corner I heard a knock on the window. “Fuck,” I swore. I turned, my heart now racing. Who on earth would be knocking the window at this time of night. My parents weren’t due back until Sunday morning, it would be the most polite burglar I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. It could only be Nathan, somehow the burglar didn’t seem so bad.
            I walked to the door and opened it, the cold air invaded my house once again. We stared at each other not knowing what to say or do. He stepped towards me, lifting his hand weakly towards mine. Our fingers met, and held the others without gripping, slotting together like two hooks. It was somehow comforting. Nathan leant in to kiss me. What was he doing? Over an hour ago it was my fault, he was telling me to get lost and now he wants to kiss me.
            He hushed me, like a mother hushes a baby. A soft tender ‘shh’ easing my nerves and willing me to reciprocate. We kissed. Slow, single lip kisses. Tender, sweet. He stopped and we stood forehead to forehead. He had his right hand on the back of my head again, and his left on the side of my face.
            “Nathan, what’s going on?”
            He kissed me in reply.
            “Yeah, I know that but why?”
            He looked away from me, still holding my head.
            “Do you want this?” he answered.
            “Do you want this?”
            “Nathan,” I didn’t know what to say.
            “I want this,” he turned and looked me in the eyes again.
            “Nathan,” I didn’t have the words. I wanted to kiss him again, I wanted to hold him, and I couldn’t remember ever wanting someone so much before. Yet here I was and this is how I felt.
            “It’s okay Christian, if we both want this what does it matter? Just do what we feel.”
            I kissed him, slowly getting more passionate and with more and more frenzy. Nothing seemed to matter when we were kissing, because I couldn’t remember anything feeling so right. Nathan stopped and stepped back away from me. That mischievous grin on his face, and the blue in his eyes shining all the brighter. He got out with his phone and fiddled with it before putting it to his ear.
            “Hello… Hey, yeah, sorry it’s late… I know mum… Yeah… Well I was just going to let you know that I’m not coming home tonight, I’d have called you sooner but something came up,” he winked at me. “Yeah… Yeah… I’m sleeping over at Christian’s… Yeah… Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Yeah… I know, you too. Bye… Bye.”
            He put his phone into his pocket before pushing me into the hallway, closing the door behind him. We kissed again against the wall. He had his right hand cradling my head once again and his left pinned me against the wall. We stopped and giggled, like two girls who would be texting and pointing Nathan’s direction.
            “So eh, who said you were staying over and where are you sleeping?” I joked. He bit his tongue and exhaled air as he smiled. I grabbed his left hand from my chest and began walking the direction of my room. Neither of us had any clue about what we were doing. We just knew that it felt right, and neither of us wanted to be the one who said ‘no’.


Davie Magill