A rough excerpt of a serious literature ambition.

Hello

He notices She's laughing very loudly. And she has promptly gotten better at illuminating what he thought to be the more than perfect smile. It seems he's far enough to where he himself can wallow in a self laugh. Oddly enough he is the only one who can hear her. Who can read her. Who understood her at any given moment where she was most misunderstood. Because what he sees before his eyes is foreign, he's nervous.  As a matter a fact, he's intrigued and wants to meet this person. He goes up and introduces himself to her and realizes he's never introduced himself to a girl like this before, let alone been this kind of boy before.  

"Hi," is what I think she told me, he recalled to himself.  

Bradley Hathaway's best

I don’t think our encounter would’ve ended up in Your gospels or anything, because all I really need is a hug. I mean, that’s OK for me to imagine, right? That’s not going to be conflicting with any sort of theology, is it? OK, good. Then hug me.

But not one of these ‘sideways, one arm around the neck’ type hugs or the ‘ghetto right hand clasp fist elbows-to-chest pat-pat on the back back’ or the ‘you put your right arm over my right arm and I put my left arm over your left arm and we make this weird sort of diagonal thing’. Nah. None of those.

BEAR HUG ME, MAN.

Take your old school, carpenter arms and throw them around my upper body, leaving my arms dangling underneath Yours somewhere, and I can barely move them because You’re squeezing me so hard. (But don’t pick me up and make my back pop, because I hate it when people do that).

And hold me. Hold me here in Your arms until I start to cry. Because I want to cry, but I just can’t seem to do it on my own. I’ve been teary-eyed once recently, but not even enough for a drip down my cheek. There’s just hurt in my soul that needs to be purged. So hold me in this hugging pose until the pain is flowing from my eyes and nose.