Love yourself as you leave: “She does not want to steal my youth”

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Love yourself as you leave: “She does not want to steal my youth”

First day

I am 17 years old, I am in terminal, and I have a best friend with whom I spend all my time. We met in high school two years ago, and we are always together, outside, to make mistakes, at home, at home, we are inseparable. Our personalities are complementary, we give ourselves the change intellectually. We watch movies, we play video games, everything is a pretext for great debate. We are a refuge for each other. He, his father devalorise, his family life is complicated, his mother skinned alive. We organize many evenings together, we drink, we smoke firecrackers, we take reckless risks. Finally me especially. At night, I climb the roofs. I spend hours on that of the church next to my home whose facade, conveniently covered with scaffolding, is easy to climb. I have always loved the heights.

I also have a background of nostalgia, between what is and what could have been I am a bit of a poet who is cursed, lonely and sometimes asocial. Stuck between my two facets, one very realistic, and the other who wants to escape from a reality too hard. This is the tragedy of the quirky, I never feel completely in my place. I had some girlfriends. In the second, I was crazy in love with a girl, but the story never started. I purged her the next year, my whole life could not turn around one person. I realize that I like a lot, they tell me, they show it to me.

I know that she is not easy, a little abrupt and complicated at first. The first time I meet her, she goes into the kitchen where I have lunch with my best friend. I say “Hello ma’am” . She comes out of the room quickly, she has better things to do. Her son is very beautiful, she is also beautiful, she has a sleek face, with drawn lines. Of course I have no attraction, I do not even think about it.

Often, when I join my friend at home, he is not available right away. He is busy finishing his homework, his comic book. I wander in the apartment, a little idle. And I land in the kitchen, where his mother looks as lost as me. Often, we discuss. More and more in fact. She confides, tells me about her family problems, difficulties with her husband. I forbid myself to feel anything. Yet, she becomes more and more tactile, hand over my arm or shoulder. As part of her professional activity, she needs help to set up a small website. I know enough computer skills to help him. This is an opportunity for us to spend even more time together. My friend does not ask or ask any questions.

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