Gideon carefully wrapped it like he’s seen
his friends do, with fidgeting hands,he laid
the paper while the ‘real deal’ laid beside
him,like an assassin waiting for its target;
he could hear and feel his heart beat
through his vintage shirt, he swallowed the
lump that had form in his throat,happens
when he’s anxious. At 17,he wanted the
‘young and wild and free’ feeling too. he’s
seen those guys on instagram blow this
stuff,he’d want to go to the club on a
Friday, take a girl home after he wants to
talk about how he peeked into the secret
chambers of the girl with his friends, so
they’d adorn him with the imaginary medal
of one of the cool guys. To console his
miserable self,he’d say “its not pressure, Its
been realistic ”



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