It was raining again tonight; another soaking winter. He would lie awake for hours again, just like last night and the night before; another exhausting circle of thoughts. He was so tired that he couldn’t seep. He was lonely, yearning again for the one he couldn’t have. He felt empty, less than empty, like he was wasting away. Afraid that the forbidden one and the all the others would leave him behind.

He always had such wonderful nights of mischief with the lost boys. They stayed up past their bedtime for nocturnal adventures in the streets nearby. Their nights together were nights of cheap thrills. They scaled fences, they trespassed, they frolicked under weeping stars, committing the occasional petty street crime. They climbed trees, they played hide and seek in the dark. Sometimes they’d drive far away from home, gliding over shimmering silver streets for strolls along mysterious frosty beaches, or moonlit treasure hunts in soggy parks and forests. The members of their club would come and go, mostly for bigger and better things. Blissful intoxication kept him warm on these adventures but his feet were numb and wrinkled at the end of every night. The puddles he tried to avoid would somehow always seep through his shoes and his feet would age a little more each time without growing any wiser.

The other night brought with it a drop of the unattainable; the most illegal yet delightful stolen kiss; one he’d never never forget.

He would eventually need to move on. It was well and truly time to grow up. It was time to stop wanting what he couldn’t have, time to bow his head, stop misbehaving and tread the dreary sodden street towards success.
But for now all he could do was dabble in his childish ways, thinking his childish, pointless thoughts of what might have been, what could have been, what should have been.

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