He would run out of the bus every single day, as if he was late for something. I wonder what that is.

He smelled so deliciously strong it made me sniff every five seconds, he would always notice, and chuckle. That's an advance right?

Cigarettes and washing powder filled my nosestrings everyday, and I did not complain, I would not mind smelling that every morning before going to work, or every night before going to bed.

I would swim everytime we locked eyes, I was a good swimmer so that was good. The blue of his eyes was not like any other blue. It reminded me of the ocean. It reminded me of going to beach on a sunny sunday with my family. It reminded me of the perfect blue sky I would see every time after stepping out of the bus on summer.

I would not mind seeing those eyes every time I woke up, or everytime I went to bed. I would love it actually.

Sweater weather has grown a lot on me after he started taking the bus this november. His sweaters were dark and gray and sometimes had pretty patterns in white.

I would not mind making him sweaters with my sewing machine every now and then. I would stay up all night if it required me to have it finished for whenever he wanted it.

His hair reminded me of chocolate cake. Reminded me of those sunday nights I would bake chocolate cakes with my grandmother. It wasn't long, but it wasn't short. It was perfect. Just like him.

I wasn't fond of tanned boys, though I would not complain if one talked to me. The boy on the bus was not tanned, I have never seen him tanned. He was very pale. He looked gorgeous like that. I would never imagine him with a tan, it would be different.

His freckles reminded me of many things that I can not list right now. They brought his eyes out. They brought life to him.

He would say the weather was lovely every day, but thing is, it wasn't. It was freezing cold and the skies were very dark. He probably liked it that way, so I would just agree and smile.

He was reading The Great Gatsby the other day on the bus. I have read that book two times already. He was probably re-reading it. He seemed like the type of guy who had a big library filled with books he has never read. His fingers passed the pages with such gentleness it made me wonder if he brushed his hands that way over me.

I can still remember tuesday night, where he had me screaming god's names in vain. When he drowned me in alcohol and then had his way with me in bed.

I still gave the image of his hands gripping my thighs, of his eyes looking deep straight in mine, of the short grunts he used to make every now and then, the way his breath was really limited, the way he pulled at my hair and the way he bit my earlobes.

I can't get out of my mind the way he threw his head back when we both came harder that smashing your head on a concrete wall, the way his hair dangled on his face, the way his lips parted and his tongue sneaked out like a criminal after robbing a bank.

His moans were like angels singing me a lullaby to sleep, I would record that and play it every night before going to bed.

I can remember everything, but he acts like nothing ever happened. My mind clouds with the thought of his hands gripping my thighs and his full pink lips ******* on my collarbones. They are very disturbing thoughts.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" he would ask every monday, in that perfect new york accent,  two weeks after what happened.

"Staying home." I would say with determination, showing him that he could not have his way with me again.

In all reality, I would not mind having his hands all over my body one, two, three more times, I would not mind a bit.

His house smelled like cigarettes, it was very messy from what I remember. I remember waking up and not seeing him next to me in bed. Wrapping the sheets over my naked body and walking over to his naked shadow in the dark, sitting on his desk, writing very fast on a notebook. He closed it very quick when he saw me, I never even got a glimpse of what he wrote, I hope I get to see it someday.

I am still trying to remember his name, I know he told me, but I can't seem to remember. I do know I screamed it over the soft music he played while we were having fun that tuesday night in his apartmennt, but it's hard for me to get it right, I was half drunk.

I think it started with an A. If it's Angel, it fits him, because he sure as hell is one.