Chapter Text
You had given up guys for the time being. After your last attempt at love you were over spending time on those who wouldn’t give you their own. Being half of a losing team got to you after awhile, but that wasn’t even why you left. He had started talking to one of his ex girlfriends. That was the last straw for you. And in the end, quite frankly, it didn’t hurt too much to say goodbye.
While leaving was easy finding new ways to fill your time was difficult, you had given so much of yourself away. It was hard to recognise what you had done before him. Struggling to fill the void you cracked open some boxes you had packed away from when you left for school, that's when you found it. Poetry.
It only made sense to pull the pieces out and pour over them, each one a memory, each one a friend. You took your earlier work and filed it all. Turning scattered pages into a nice portfolio and even picking some pieces for an eventual manuscript. After enough time spent reflecting, you even picked up a pen again.
Now more than ever it seemed like the words flowed out of you. Everything made sense when it was down on the page. All the emotions you had, even the ones you didn’t know were hiding in you were coming out. You felt like it was time you shared them.
Sure you had been on Tumblr before. Sometimes for memes, sometimes for more unsavory reasons, but now you were here to share a part of you.
Honestly, the first few poems didn’t do that well. They weren’t bad they just didn't have a real hook for an audience. You persevered though, and started to spend time on the app going through other blogs. Some were serious, others less so. There were a few in particular that caught your eye, one of them being a gothic Aesthetic blog. It was full of smokey images and dark rooms. Words that cut deep and sentiments that never rang hollow. Everything posted on there felt like it was for you directly, as if the owner of the page was speaking to you personally.
After spending enough time on the Tumblr page you had to admit, you were a little curious as to the person behind it. The bio said his name was Kylo. An interesting choice on his parents parts as you’d never heard a name quite like it before.
It read:
Kylo. Probably not as interesting as you think the pictures are. Lets swap stories, spit, or anxiety meds.
It was a slightly concerning way to introduce oneself but you figured it was probably just to fit the general dark theme of the blog. You had to admit you were intrigued. His profile picture was one of a man with long dark hair in a black walled room surrounded by a sort of mist. You have seen the photo before on the page and just assumed it was a random picture at the time. That or it was one of the posters friends. Either way scrolling down the blog you saw the same man appear in a few photos, one by himself and one in a place you recognised. He was at The Loving Touch, a local music venue. You were sure that's where he was. Interesting for sure.
Everything seemed to be going normal for you on a tuesday afternoon until you went to check your tumblr notifications. Your newest poem had been blowing up and you weren’t sure why, a bigger page had reblogged your work before but nothing quite like this has happened before.
That’s when you saw it. His name in your notifications. Kylo or whoever he was had reblogged your poem. Your poem. Your’s. As you clicked onto his blog you scrolled past the top few posts to where your poem sat, you read it over again:
My boy tastes like gasoline
Through the grit and metal
Of his miffed mild smoke
A cigarette sits loose on the lips-
My boy sheds his skin: Reptile
A bonafide bad boy an O’phile
With more bone breaks in his body than you.ve got bones
And enough embers in his eyes to keep us alive for awhile-
My boy sips, silently smirking sitting
South of my Northern pull to him
Dancing carless across his room it
Smells like stale beer, and my perfume-
My boy cries himself to sleep,
Cries when he thinks of Him, of Her, what was
Could have been, he cries over posed posies and
Album releases, over used needles and repressed
Releases, when he thinks of me-
My boy doesn't shed a tear.
My boy knows I’m the most important date on his calendar year.
Your poem. On his page. It was right there in front of you and you still couldn’t believe it. You also were a little shocked at how big his blog must actually be for all of the attention you were getting. You were grateful and excited for the attention your page was getting now, sure, but you had to admit. Knowing that his page wasn’t a little hidden gem you had found made you slightly somber. You were going over that fact in your head when you looked down at your phone and saw a new message.
“Hey”
Kylo had sent you a message. He had reblogged your poem and then sent you a message.
Your phone went off again.
“What’s up?”