Hey guys! This particular poem is one for a university class of mine. Thought I might run it by you guys first before giving it over to my class mates and tutor to look over. I am using a bit of an experiential design here. The piece is meant to be reminiscent of place and space, ‘space’ in this aspect being my opinion of a place, or, in the case of the poem, a person. Please feel free to comment if you believe that there is something wrong with either the consistency or any other aspect!
I appreciate you taking the time to read.
Also, there are a couple of sexual references and some profanity in the piece. Thought I should mention that in case I receive some very young viewers! 😀
Waiting I was for twenty six years to find her,
and wonder I do when I think
together four years was not enough.
Is it greed that floods my sensors,
or is it more of something different
that is yet to be mentioned here?
General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo
proclaimed that he be worthy
when fell upon his sword he did.
An answer I am yet to find
when question I do my worthiness
to hold onto the memory
of the woman I called my home,
for every day her voice I hear
on moments when soundlessness be not abandoned.
‘When we lay our heads down upon plush pillows,
our hearts begin to beat slower.
We succumb to the tiring sensation
that runs throughout our systems,
and as we close our eyes and let sleep take us,
promise me, my darling,
in the quiet of your fantasies,
you will have hallucinations
of my undying embrace.
This imprisonment is necessary,
for in our dreams we shall meet,
as we sleep under the cover of darkness
that has drowned out the day,
the dead of night rapping at our windows
as we soundlessly dream.
Although we are separated
by the immense oceans of time
that stretch out across the universe,
the nexus between us is most strongest
when our consciousness has been denied.
In this world we are bound not
by the limitations of the living,
who be impaired by lack of vision.
During our dream state we can see ourselves
for who we truly are in the land of the ancient spirits.
Lead you I will, through your sleep
until the two of us are together,
right where we eternally belong.
When around you I’m not,
let love be your guide.
I am in the weather that surrounds you;
my feelings are the winds
drifting across your features;
my thoughts are in the rain that hangs in the air,
and by the end you shall be mine,
as destined you are to be.
Every time you close your eyes it’s me you glimmer
because, in your memories I am alive,
for love like ours lasts more than forever,
it is time itself, and when meet again we do tonight
in your unconscious mind,
you have my permission to run your sweet
fingers through every strand of my hair.
Kiss me with your lips
that be stained with eternal love,
from which I have digested greatly
the affection of my paramour,
and happily drink your love I will,
just as you have drunk mine.
Eat your fill of my feelings
prepared on this platter,
for like numbers, my passion is never ending,
and just when you cannot stomach no more
I will kiss you awake
and tomorrow we can begin anew.’
Spoken are these words few
across the veil of serene passing,
and listen do I to the garrulous tongue
of my beloved as her whisper hangs on the wind,
for love that be true can be halted not
by even the dispersions of sacrilege.
Bound is fidelity’s chalice of mine
that points towards true north,
and when cometh my end does
meet her, my lady, shall I
in the city of angels that floats on the wings
of faith, truth and love.
A time there was once though
when different her emotions were,
and it was I who sacrificed his affection
in order to ensnare the complete attention
of the future residence my heart
longed to live within.
No problem have I ever with saying ‘I love you’
when such words are meant, although I believe
she did once resent such terminology.
Beneath her bench she did keep a voodoo doll
in the shape of any man who charmed her heart,
and stab the thing repeatedly she would
with a needle of solid silver
until a man fell out of fixation with her.
This attitude of hers was an unnecessary one;
a burden upon my soul that seldom feels rejection.
Resent these tactics I did,
knowing how not I would be felled
by such malicious crimes against my romance,
and as I whispered into her ‘all will be alright’,
her bated breath was then released
and she did simply breathe again
in unison with the beating of my palpitating heart.
So if I dream of thee this night,
waketh me not from slumber,
for the elements of but brick and timber
represent not the corporeal visage
of my heart’s desire,
and my one affliction.
My mortal coils bound
by the elixir of her good fortune
offers a defensive reprieve
from the bed of loneliness,
wishing not to sleep beneath the duvet
of such misfortune.
But sometimes this be not enough,
and the phone I ring to have a conversation
with the unforgotten dead.
The ghost of my one true love
is recorded on a loop,
that shall proceed to play for an infinitude,
for the immortal carrier of her voice time is.
I listen with an empowered intent,
to hear my heart’s home say the last goodbye
we were eternally denied.
Shall not shed a tear I will,
but joy instead will be that which erupts
across my features,
for the unwritten tale of our affection
is a story worth consideration
in the halls of unequalled passion.
Not is my permanent place of residence
my home. Protection it does indeed provide,
like a barrier between worlds,
but love and warmth is given not
by the walls of this establishment.
My homesickness felt is not for this construction,
but the home that hath occupy
this residence once with me.
The home that which contains
my palpitating muscle
of passionate throes
alas is a stationary object not,
but a ravishing creature
who hath captured me
with an unending ease.
Inanimate is not my home,
her roof that which shelters me
being not a mass of tiles
but hair, each strand belonging
in its own place upon
the herbal scented features
of her head, burning
like an out of control grass fire
that rampages across the land.
Cement and brick her flesh is not,
but gentle to the touch
of my fine fingers as I caress
a form of physical magnificence
quite like no other,
my home having taken legitimately
the crown of purest gorgeousness
from the head of Aphrodite,
being bestowed this grateful honour
on the orders of a winged angel,
the Goddess of love and beauty
having for the first time
to stand in the shadows
of my beloved’s figure.
Like a painting hung upon the wall,
her body be the canvas
of such fruitful expenditure.
A rose that be as dark as night
is etched upon her shoulder left,
whilst a sentence strung from words writ
beneath the surface of her flesh
is accumulated on the opposing side;
Je n’ai l’amour de soi et j’adore ca.
A symbol of nefarious intent
in the form of a religious cross
that be hung inappropriately,
drawn in the darkest colour imaginable
that be thick like it is filthy
is painted ever so delicately
across the sumptuous design of her back.
The opposite to this artwork
is, ironically, on the other side,
a slender angel in an ink of blue
hangs like a chandelier
between the ample peaks of her chest,
the wings of this here blessed creature
resting upon thy lady’s bosom’s mantel.
An artist, who must have perspired dangerously
during the birth of the snake
that worms its way around my lady’s lower regions
would have begun the piece of work
where the tail lies beneath the button
in her body’s centre.
Its form slithers towards that which
shall not be mentioned yet,
the tongue of this venomous reptile
resting but an inch above Venus’s mound.
A fire breathing serpent,
quite unlike the creature writ
in the stanza prior,
rests its inflamed features
upon the leg of the woman I call home,
a ring of fire burning
around the body of this wretched beast.
Felt not is pain by a house that is built,
but when born, a different story this is,
however, never ought a tale such as this
be written upon the page again.
A tear, crystalline in appearance
will roll across the flawless features
of the woman I have here regaled,
when consumed with bereavement
her gorgeous soul unfortunately suffers
once the deliverance of offensive villainy
unto her life of beauty is betided.
But she be strong in contrast
with what may be believed,
and if flirt too much did a man
unworthy of her consideration,
apply she would mascara to his angry eyes
and to his chapped lips would be gloss
as she proclaimed with a smile
‘now you be my little bitch!’
If, like a volcano, a commotion did erupt,
and enter did I the room where explode the violence had,
only to find one such person beaten up upon the floor,
‘what the fuck have happen here?’
would be the words bestowed from me,
before being told, simplistically;
‘like this it did happen –
started it he did, and it be I who ended it.’
The lights that illuminate
dark passages on a cold winter’s night
are her cayenne flavoured eyes, shining brighter
than the stars orbiting our atmosphere
that need not switching on,
for always do they exceed
all else that radiates this world
in glowing fixtures.
The chimney is connected not
atop her frame, but to her mouth,
the slender stick of smouldering ash
permeating the world around her
with its obnoxious fumes.
The repugnant flavour of the smoke,
once cycled through her lungs,
has become a scent so sweet,
one could not imagine it was ever so brutal to behold.
Like oxygen is this fragranced cloud
to her, the scented smoke
bringing a smile to those lips that be reminiscent
of the flames she bathes in.
Her cigarette could spontaneously erupt
and paint the effigy of a blazing inferno
that spans her entire body,
and she would shrug and say with bated breath,
‘had to happen sometime.’
Unlike a house belonging
to the land, rooted in place
and grown from the imagination
of workmen’s fingers,
like the seedling of a growing flower,
who speakth only with the
creaking of wood
hanging above me in the ceiling,
its choice in words
reaching my ears on nights
when the wind blows thickest,
different is the speech postulated
from the lips of my humble home.
Opinionated is she,
with an intellect that defies
all known comprehension,
the sounds that roll off her tongue
being not sounds at all,
but words, that need not deciphering
as I listen with an avid ear
to the harmonic gestures
of a musical score
that ought never to be unheard.
The words that fall from thy mouth
match those which be produced
by the lady from my dreams incarnate,
whose words, spoken in an accent untraceable
are concocted by rosy lips of a pink hue
which long, like a flower in the meadow
to be plucked, oh so courteously.
‘You’re the air I breathe,
you’re the sword I seethe,
you’re everything I know.
You’re the destination I will go
to hold onto you my king.’
‘You’re my diamond ring,
you’re my lighthouse in the harbour.
You are the future mother
of my children, my loving queen,
the only one who makes me feel like a human being.’
Although not is meaning lost to thy words spoken,
come a time does on occasion
when what be said fails to clarify
the feelings found within,
and it is on rare occasion such as this
that the touch of flesh against flesh
will say more than what could ever be spoken aloud.
An entryway there be not of conventional design
to touch the soul within her castle’s keep,
for there be no moat to cross
and there be no palace guard.
But permission is ever only granted
to those deserving of her patronage,
the fire that burns within touched only
by the hands of those with just merit
who hath captivated her unruly passion.
Ease not my way through the front door
for there be no knob to turn,
but a buckle that needs undoing
to reveal a pathway to a dungeon
of incomprehensible delights,
the likes of which I cannot help
but lust to plunder.
Upon the first time of this moment transpiring
I remember what sprang to mind, the thoughts,
and I said to myself with gusto great;
‘I shall not shield my eyes,
for the morbid curiosity of mine
is a boundless ocean,
that longs to explore the farthest reaches
of my destined home,
with regions contained across all surfaces
yet to be named by man,
and if I may be so bold
to ask the owner of this here promise land
a question, with regards to whether
I can be the explorer to put a name
to these areas of lustrous pleasure
and great beauty, when exploring
not just her lower most features,
but the mountain ranges of her torso.’
Now, that it be time for a conclusion
to be writ upon the page,
it can be said with a heart, heavy with burden,
that ‘death is when the darkness takes you,
belittled by the black of night.
I don’t want to feel this first before I die,
I want to feel you instead,
for you are oh so hot like a burning bush,
the embers of your effigy
captivating me with a raw ecstasy of emotion
unlike any that I have inhaled before,
and known it should throughout the land
that separate we shall not,
for, unequivocally, there be no death in love.’
On the day I do pass away, no one
shall dress in black. There will be
no funeral procession; there will
be no obituary; there will be but
a wren on my windowsill, chirping
happily where I never did. Find
comfort in this if you can, for
there is no comfort to be had
here. These words have no
rhyme; no syllable; no purpose;
they are as dead as the dried
blood I left for you; the only
thing I ever left for you; the only
thing I ever did right; left a perfect
puddle where I concluded my
effortless journey. Like my mouth
my wrists are open, like my lips my
wrists are red. I have never seen so
much red before, and it almost brings
a smile. It reminds me of the roses
I once had and in my bodily liquid I
see them again, their petals eagerly
awaiting the opportunity to lick my
wounds. Washed away are my
troubles in the blood in the
shadow of one last ‘good-bye.’ No
note, no reason, there’s none to give.
If you still don’t know why, like you
didn’t know then, I ain’t gonna bother
letting you inside to admire my cuts
and bruises. I’m broken; I’m defeated;
my life source is all but waning. I don’t
have the will to carry on, so I cut down
deep like taking an axe to a tree, my
wrists are felling and I suddenly feel
again. Maybe this ain’t right, maybe I
am wrong, but who’s going to say such
things as my insides flow out around
me onto my navy blue tiles? My life
flashes before me, twilight’s upon me
and as always, you’re not here. The
arterial red draining from my body fills
my heart with so much glee. I’m glad to
be rid of the pain; of me; of you. There
was never a better time to say goodbye
like the present, but the words still fail to
come. Like ‘help’ the vowels and
adjectives become stuck in my throat,
such alien terms gurgling down deep,
frustrating me as always with their
symbolism. I am glad it is over, do you feel
the same? For the record, I ain’t apologising,
I always knew it had to be this way. I
wonder if mommy will be impressed right
now, she never was before. Death is the
cure I’ve been looking for, has it been
the same for you all this time? I’d ask you
to join me in Purgatory, but I’ve been
there already half my life and know it
better than I know myself. I ain’t going to
no better place; I ain’t going to no happy
ending. I’m just going, and this time
I promise you, I will not be coming home.
What is reality if not for dreams?
What are dreams if not for reality?
A house is an endeavour;
a dreamer’s joy if you will,
something that everyone does crave.
It’s an image of belonging,
the roots to a family’s existence,
without which, a family has no place.
A house is but brick and timber;
a home is what you make of it.
A home is an establishment
of everlasting hope and dreams.
She, not it, exists as a symbol
of a family’s undying pledge
to provide the spoils of wealth and riches
to the rightful kin and family’s heir.
One can move away from their first house,
across vast continents if you will,
but a home stays with you forever
and will exist in your memories
and dreams, until the bittersweet conclusion.
A home, like a lover, exists in your heart,
unlike a house that will exist only in your eyes
and the eyes of all who enter your humble abode.
What begins as a house can soon become a home.
By filling her with all your worldly possessions,
your memories, your thoughts and your love,
she soon grows up to become a place
of great warmth and significant happiness
and if you listen real closely to the walls,
the ceilings and the floors, sometimes a home’s secrets
permit their many great stories to be conveyed.
I very much enjoy the home I have made myself inside this house,
and I moreover appreciate the time spent with my loving spouse,
however, I’ve certainly no appreciation for an uninvited guest;
a new arrival to our home, who, for his size, is an intolerable pest.
I was sitting on a rug watching television, and behold there was a flea!
And in-between the ad-breaks he would turn his head and stare lovingly up at me.
I did not know his true intentions, and before I had the opportunity to ask,
he had already leapt in the direction of his endeavour, and set upon his task.
Suddenly he was upon me, and was crawling across my skin.
‘Hey, give me back my blood!’ I cried, ‘else I shall poke you with a pin!
Gosh, I truly wish I did not have what it is that you do need.
Hey, look at what you have done you little pest! You have made me bleed!’
I am unable to speak for the parasite, but this relationship is no good;
I cannot fathom why the flea could not go bother someone else in our neighbourhood.
My residence, it sure ain’t filthy and I do not live in squalor,
so why must my new roommate be an irritable little horror?
I shake my head and wonder aloud, ‘for this infestation, who have I to thank?’
I sincerely hope that the culprit who is responsible does not truly bank
on me rushing over to their houses to meet their families
to announce with a smile, how I’d love to accommodate more fleas.
If I am provided the opportunity, I swear I will not hesitate,
to annihilate the fiendish little bugger, who lives only to masticate.
For that’s all he ever does, upon finding a piece of skin; just chew, chew and chew;
I would be careful dear reader, for sometime soon, he may come calling upon you.
SYNOPSIS: Nat Banyon, a man who has been away from his home by the shoreline for several months now returns in the hopes of being reunited with his friends and loved ones and to return to the same exact life that he left.
Warning: There is a weak sex scene in this, but still, a weak sex scene is a sex scene all the same, so viewer discretion should be advised.
The nurse gently pushed me out through the doors and into the light of the sun, the wheelchair bumping along the stairs before reaching the concrete tiles below. Trees rustled around me whilst the wind licked eagerly at their leaves. Numerous vehicles could be seen driving by on the road before me, the bus pulling up in front of the curb. It was a terrific yellow in colour that perfectly matched the sun above, whilst at the same time I grimaced as the nurse unbuckled the strap across my waist.
‘Now you take it easy Nat’ said the nurse, her short blonde hair blowing across her face. ‘That was a nasty hit you took son. We don’t want you back here anytime soon.’ She pushed the hair out from her eyes, revealing the small freckles that were placed evenly across her cheeks.
‘Don’t worry Jody, I won’t need anybody to hold my hand where I’m going’ I said with a smile. ‘Home is where the heart is, that is what they say and I know mine like the back of my hand.’ I smiled to myself before becoming deadly serious once more. ‘I am going to miss you though. You and the rest of the staff’
‘That’s sweet Nat’ said Jody, pointing in the direction of my transport. ‘Hurry along now, or you’ll miss your bus.’
With one last smile I made my way from the wheelchair with my small bag of belongings and up the steps into the interior of the bus. I walked to the back where there was still plenty of space, the trip home giving me the chance to think over all that had happened thus far to make me land in this situation.
Nat Banyon’s the name. I have jet black hair that seems rather irregular for somebody who grew up living on the beach as the generalisation is that every such person like me has to have hair that is light in colour. I have dark brown eyes that look like the coral that is found down on the ocean’s surface and a face and body that has basically been crafted by the ocean.
I originally came from a beach up north, which is where I was headed back to now. Surfing had been my life and Chloe Rivers, the most beautiful girl in school had been my life’s passion. Yet in life there was always competition and in my case it came in the shape of Tyrese Lowman. Not only did he want to be the best surfer, but he wanted my girl as well. That bastard!
Long story short, I wanted to put him in his place and so, we raced. Problem was, not everything went according to plan. On the final wave that would have undoubtedly made me look incredibly awesome in comparison to Tyrese, I was flipped over on my board by an unsuspecting freak wave, slamming my head on a gargantuan rock sticking out of the drink. I don’t remember what happened next, or how the race turned out. All that springs to mind is my body lying on the beach, seaweed in my hair and the bitter taste of salt in my mouth. I didn’t know anything; not my name, not my social security number, but worse of all, I didn’t know Chloe. This alternate version of me was bloody ridiculous in comparison to the original Nat.
Suddenly out of the blue this lime green hippie van pulls out of nowhere and suddenly I’m riding with them. I know it sounds out of this world, but when you’ve no memory the first thing that occurs to you feels like it was the kind of thing you were doing your entire life. I should be glad it wasn’t the manure truck that showed up. Anyway, I end up in their band, lead guitarist and later even background vocals, singing songs about how we hated surfers and loved trees, but especially about sex. Actually, come to think of it, that’s probably what all the lyrics were about really.
I wasn’t very good at singing, but hey, nobody heard me over the blare of the other instruments. Besides, most people came to check out the lead singer, Wynona, this Goth wannabe constantly dressed in black, half her face covered by a unicorn tattoo. Unbeknown to any of the spectators though, she was with me. I know, it sounds terrible, but since I had no memory of Chloe, Wynona seemed like the perfect girl. Now that I think about it though, it scares the crap out of me.
Yet, she was always there though, Chloe. She came to nearly every concert, presumably waiting for my memory to return. She once came up to talk to me, but I shut her down, saying ‘go away surfer chick, we don’t want you here.’ It was later that I came to realise how I had hurt Chloe, after my memory was restored. Well, to an extent anyway.
During this guitar solo this glass bottle is thrown at the stage and hits me square in the head. A few minutes later after the grogginess begins to dissipate, I open my eyes and see Chloe leaning over me. ‘Surfer chick’ I say.
‘Surfer dude’ she replies, the two of us embracing one another.
Anyhow, afterwards I check myself into this hospital to get my memory back and to ensure there is no permanent damage to my brain from the injuries I sustained. Then, I’m sprung free and on my way back to civilisation. I only hope it’s the way I left it. I told Chloe not to visit me. I didn’t want her to see me until I was one hundred per cent once more. God, I bet she looks great!
Upon stepping off the bus and onto the pavement of the town I called home I instantly felt a sense of calm, everything appearing to be exactly the same as I had left it. The stores had not moved out, the fashion had remained the same and even the smell of beach side orange juice and surfer’s gel clung to the air as I smiled to myself before making my way up the street, bag slung over my right shoulder.
I quickly found myself at the local surf store located beside the beach, the gentle pounding of the waves drifting over to where I stood. It sounded as though the ocean was beckoning me back into Poseidon’s graces once more, as though I had never actually left.
My eyes wandered through the maze of necessary surf utensils to the counter where Chloe currently stood, resting her arms on the cabinets beneath her. As predicted, she looked spectacular. Her long blonde hair drifted across the counter, shining under the fluorescent lighting above. Her blue eyes glittered like icicles; her lips moist like the ocean itself; her radiant skin looking like a paradise waiting to be explored. She wore a short red shirt, her black bikini visible beneath it, whilst her brief denim shorts stuck to her body like glue. Looking up she saw me, a smile appearing on her face.
Before I had a chance to move however Tyrese appeared behind her, a dark scowl descending across his features. His tanned skin looked like barren rock under the flare of the lighting, his face resembling that of a caged gorilla. As always he had his shirt unbuttoned at the top to allow ladies to see his three chest hairs. Nothing had changed. He had done the exact same thing back in high school.
Luckily enough though it appeared Chloe was still my one and only girl. God, I just wanted Chloe to throw her legs around my waist so I could rush her over to my place and show her over the course of a few good hours my feelings for her had not changed in the months I’d being away.
I slowly walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist whilst staring at Tyrese who looked as though he had something on his mind.
‘Glad you could make it Nat’ he said in a deep, throaty voice. ‘We were all hoping you’d arrive in time for the annual surfing competition tomorrow.’
Chloe looked at me as though she were trying to warn me about the repercussions of my last surf championship.
‘But I’d understand if you’re not man enough to go through with it’ guffawed Tyrese.
‘No’ I grunted suddenly, Chloe appearing surprised, pulling away. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Noticing the signup sheet on the counter I picked up the biro and scrawled my signature amidst all the other wannabe surfing champions. ‘While I was away I spent a gargantuan period of time swimming in the gymnasium pool. I’m ready for a real challenge.’
‘Glad you didn’t lose your reckless attitude when you lost your mind’ grunted Tyrese, ‘see you tomorrow.’
Chloe shook her head as Tyrese walked away, before ushering me out of the store and in the direction of my place.
Upon arriving home Chloe mentioned that she had cleaned my place on a weekly basis since I had left in preparation for my heroic return. She appeared to be doing her best to keep her fears of tomorrow at bay and I did my best not to bring them up. When Chloe went to hug me once more she quickly pulled away after getting a whiff of my clothing. I smelt clean and fresh, whilst she smelt of the ocean. It was absolutely irresistible.
She loathed the hospital smell that lingered in my clothing and insisted on me ripping them off, removing most of the garments herself before rushing me into the shower and turning on the pressure as high as the aging taps would allow, the cold water drenching me from head to toe. It was like a full de-tox, any of the old which had been orchestrated by the knocks to the head being irreparably erased in a single moment in time as I felt the same old me beginning to come back to true form.
As the water ran through my hair and across my body I heard the creaking sound of the shower door opening once more. Chloe slowly clambered inside before closing the door behind her, her naked body joining mine in the midst of the moist arena surrounding us. Her breasts gently rocked from side to side, whilst her hair covered up her nipples which I slowly but surely removed before caressing that particular part of her body. She pushed her flawless body up against me as I felt a part of my body beginning to grow considerably hard as I dragged her face closer to mine before kissing passionately in the confines of the shower. Our mouths filled with both the water from the taps and the salvia from our mouths as I sucked gently upon her tongue, Chloe doing the same thing to mine. She pushed up against me once more and I felt myself beginning to enter her, such an exhilarating experience I had wanted to have happen again since the moment I had arrived in hospital, the mist from the warm water that began to make its way through the taps banning all from seeing inside.
The next day came so fast I barely had time to catch my breath before I suddenly found myself on the beach only minutes before my final showdown with Tyrese.
‘I hope you haven’t lost that fire which made you such a challenging opponent’ he grunted.
‘Not a chance of that ever occurring mate’ I said, ‘not in this lifetime anyway.’
It was a few seconds later after a rush of cool air washed over me that Tyrese said ‘I married Chloe.’
I stood flabbergasted at such words, my mouth opening before I closed it abruptly, unable to believe such a sentence. I was surprised that if it were true why Chloe had not informed me.
‘You’re lying’ I said.
‘Yeah’ said Tyrese. ‘But you know that I would have. If she had let me I mean. You know that I love her, just as you do. So I was thinking we could make this race a little more interesting, just between the two of us. The winner not only gets the respect of the crowd, but wins the heart of Chloe Rivers. The loser packs up his crap and leaves town, forever; which is exactly what you should have done in the first place.’
I shook my head. This was preposterous. I knew instantly there was no way I was ever going to agree to such lunacy, even if he was playing off my massive ego which came with professional surfer territory. There was no way I was going to risk the love of Chloe over some competition that I had already won numerous occasions before. Looking up into Tyrese’s face I smiled, pitying him for such desperate methods. I knew exactly what mattered in life and winning some surf competition was not one of them as I looked into the crowd, my eyes landing directly on Chloe, before I grinned in satisfaction.
‘I forfeit’ I said, turning around to Tyrese before beginning to leave the arena in exchange for a life with the girl of my dreams. Had I made the right choice?