/lit/ - Literature

Harsh criticism wanted. also OC thread.
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Glancing over at her from the other side of the room he conjured an unborn history they shared. Staring into space he brought the contours of her all-too real face to the eye of his Mind.
Face to face they sit in contemplative intimacy, letting go of words and sharing the pristine silence that bubble their two figures. Slipping the ring onto her finger he collides with the bare, uninhabited terrain of her skin. He pauses, savoring the euphoria, the hurt, of this tiny chunk of time. This moment cruelly beckons him to realise itself again and again. He sighs, pondering the depths of the harsh and wild seas he would have to cross and the chill of the mountain peaks he has to reach to bring this moment to the concrete and the tangible. It strikes him that such a moment would only be blunted, details clumsily erased or simply ignored, that in the physical there is too much room for distraction, interruption, awkwardness, hesitation for such a thing to be consistent with the fluid, unfettered experience residing in his head. Too much room for reality. The sound of hurrying hands and busy zippers alert to him that it's time to move on; Move on to his next class and let the moment pass. Live to forget. No dice will be rolled today, it's too easy for them to roll away. A few steps down the corridor and the distant faces of the crowd begin to blur. His heart finds itself lost at the crossroads of memory and imagination, her presence, her face, clouding the air around him. The moment follows him for the rest of the day, manifesting itself in the lust-filled interactions of others, The smiling couples joined at the hands. The sweet talk over the phone. Round every corner is another reminder of his pale blanket of loneliness.

Cursed with a trigger-happy beast for a heart that sets upon any subtle beauty that enters it's scope, he barely makes it through the day.