Every day that passes, every sun that sets, every day my pillow welcomes my head home, is another day without you. Another day away from you. Another day where the picture I keep of you in the wallet of my heart becomes a little less recognizable, a little more faded…
I’ve been holding on to a ghost. Clutching at the wind. Holding onto the whisper of something long gone.
Holding onto:
Memories of you that I used to cherish that are becoming harder and harder to recall. Things about you that used to make my heart race that now…illicit nothing. Nothing at all. Jaded. Cold. I look at you and I see the memory of love but not love…no, that ship has sailed…
“You’ve been lost.”
She was leaning over me, a palm resting on each of my thighs. Each of her fingers slightly digging into my flesh. Her breath smelled of cigarettes and sherry. Her cleavage just centimeters away from my lips.
I angled my face away from the swell of her breasts.
“I’ve been away.” I told her. “Just got back today.”
“I’ve missed you.” She said with a slight pout in her voice. It was an act, I knew, but that didn’t matter. I probably would have thought the better of it had I been sober but I wasn’t and so I was easily susceptible to every play at seduction that she made.
She ran one hand along the length of my thigh, setting the flesh beneath the skin of my jeans aflame with excitement.
I wet my lips.
“I’ve missed you too.”
I felt my eyebrows furrow themselves into a slight frown.
Did I really just say that?
“Where are you staying?” she asked. She knew she had me. It was time to reel this baby in.
“The same place as before.” I told her without the slightest hesitation.
What was I doing?
She stood up. Held out a hand. It was time to collect.
“We go?”
I gulped down the three fingers of UG & tonic that remained in my glass. Set the glass down on the table next to me. Stood up. She was almost as tall as me. I slipped a hand around her waist. I could feel my anticipation growing. I could feel my breath quicken. I could feel her eyes on me as she waited for me to say the words…
“We go…”
The above 400 words were made possible by the following;
1. “Dreaming With a Broken Heart” by John Mayer
2. “Closer” by Kings of Leon &
3. “Light Up” by Drake Featuring Jay-Z
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Self-Absorbed. Incoherent. Inconceivable.
I miss music. I miss the rhythm of it. The taste of it. The way it makes my skin feel when I’ve had more than two drinks but less than five. I miss the way it bubbles my blood. Making my chest pump. Making my heart run. I miss the way it leads me by the hand, leading me out to the middle of nowhere and lies down with me there; under the twinkling stars, under the velvet sky, under the cheese wheel moon…
It’s quiet here. Lonely. It’s like swimming in a sea of strange faces. Cold faces. Faces that make me miss you even more. That make me walk from bar to bar in search of you. For just a glimpse, for just a peep of you. A smile, an expression…anything.
And then I find you. Well, not you because well, you’re like 200 miles away but still, a pretty damn good substitute. She has the same eyes. The lips are the same too. She’s a little shorter and has a bit more flesh than you but that doesn’t matter. Not much anyway. Not enough to make me stop anyway.
She is standing by the pool table. Chalking her stick. Her back is to me. Leaning over the table, she readies herself to take the shot.
I bite down on my lip. Close my eyes…
We are somewhere else. A place with no windows and no doors. With no ceiling and no floor. We are everywhere and we are nowhere. We are the first and we are the last. We are bound together…she couldn’t have gotten away even if she had wanted to.
We are naked. I am inside her. Slow….Gentle. Then faster. And faster. And harder. And stronger. She is on top. Or I am. I don’t know. Or maybe it’s both. Or maybe we take turns. I don’t care. All I know is that just when I feel as if I can’t take anymore, just as I tell her that I’m about to come, I grab her by the hair and then…and then…
And then she takes the shot. I hear the cue hit the white, which in turn hits the four, sending it spelunking into the corner left pocket.
I open my eyes. The coppery taste of blood on my tongue. She is looking at me. She knows I’m watching her. She knows the game. She pots another one. Then another one. She’s on a roll. She makes the last one without looking. Calls it, even. The game’s over. She hands over the cue. She doesn’t feel like playing any more.
“One drink.” She says as she walks past me towards the bar.
I glance over at the pool table. All the men are staring after her. And then back at me. A little awestruck maybe? A little jealous maybe…?
Maybe.
I turn to face the bar. She is already waiting.
“One drink? One drink is all I need.” I mutter to myself.
I square my shoulders. Clear my throat. Head in her direction…
The days are hot…sweltering. The nights pretty much the same; Buzzing mosquitoes, sweat slicked sheets and the never ending creak, creak, creak of the bed next door…
Damn paper thin guest house walls.
He gets a different one every night. No tastes, no preferences. Tonight’s is big breasted; cute face. I got a quick look at her as he hustled her into his room.
Would I screw her? In a heartbeat. Maybe even pay for it too. I don’t know. I’ve never had to pay for sex before.
She’s a vocal one, Miss Thursday. Won’t shut the hell up. She keeps giving him instructions. Faster. No, slower. No, now from behind. Wait, I want to be on top. Okay, now hit me…
The creaking stops.
“What?”
“I said, hit me.”
“Are you sure?”
“GOD DAMMIT HIT ME!”…
It’s quiet here. Lonely. It’s like swimming in a sea of strange faces. Cold faces. Faces that make me miss you even more. That make me walk from bar to bar in search of you. For just a glimpse, for just a peep of you. A smile, an expression…anything.
And then I find you. Well, not you because well, you’re like 200 miles away but still, a pretty damn good substitute. She has the same eyes. The lips are the same too. She’s a little shorter and has a bit more flesh than you but that doesn’t matter. Not much anyway. Not enough to make me stop anyway.
She is standing by the pool table. Chalking her stick. Her back is to me. Leaning over the table, she readies herself to take the shot.
I bite down on my lip. Close my eyes…
We are somewhere else. A place with no windows and no doors. With no ceiling and no floor. We are everywhere and we are nowhere. We are the first and we are the last. We are bound together…she couldn’t have gotten away even if she had wanted to.
We are naked. I am inside her. Slow….Gentle. Then faster. And faster. And harder. And stronger. She is on top. Or I am. I don’t know. Or maybe it’s both. Or maybe we take turns. I don’t care. All I know is that just when I feel as if I can’t take anymore, just as I tell her that I’m about to come, I grab her by the hair and then…and then…
And then she takes the shot. I hear the cue hit the white, which in turn hits the four, sending it spelunking into the corner left pocket.
I open my eyes. The coppery taste of blood on my tongue. She is looking at me. She knows I’m watching her. She knows the game. She pots another one. Then another one. She’s on a roll. She makes the last one without looking. Calls it, even. The game’s over. She hands over the cue. She doesn’t feel like playing any more.
“One drink.” She says as she walks past me towards the bar.
I glance over at the pool table. All the men are staring after her. And then back at me. A little awestruck maybe? A little jealous maybe…?
Maybe.
I turn to face the bar. She is already waiting.
“One drink? One drink is all I need.” I mutter to myself.
I square my shoulders. Clear my throat. Head in her direction…
The days are hot…sweltering. The nights pretty much the same; Buzzing mosquitoes, sweat slicked sheets and the never ending creak, creak, creak of the bed next door…
Damn paper thin guest house walls.
He gets a different one every night. No tastes, no preferences. Tonight’s is big breasted; cute face. I got a quick look at her as he hustled her into his room.
Would I screw her? In a heartbeat. Maybe even pay for it too. I don’t know. I’ve never had to pay for sex before.
She’s a vocal one, Miss Thursday. Won’t shut the hell up. She keeps giving him instructions. Faster. No, slower. No, now from behind. Wait, I want to be on top. Okay, now hit me…
The creaking stops.
“What?”
“I said, hit me.”
“Are you sure?”
“GOD DAMMIT HIT ME!”…
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Cellophane (She had me at "I know")
Sixty seconds. That’s all it took. One lousy minute. For her to take what I thought up to that point was a pretty cool party of a life and turn it on its head.
60 seconds…1 minute. The amount of time it took for her to walk into the room, slip off her shoes (they were slip-ons, I remember that. The brown sequined ones I think. I wonder if she still has those) and half amused, half she still didn’t know what to think of me, watch as I vomited my opening line, my grand entrance into the story of her life all over her pretty little toes.
I’ll be the first to admit, it wasn’t the grandest of entrances. It was three words. No riveting monologue. No sweeping of the feet. Three. Simple. Words. And not very good ones at that. They were the first three words that popped into my head. And they weren’t even the traditional,
“How are you?”
Maybe I should have said something else. Thought about it a little more. But then, maybe not. And maybe it’s not too far of a stretch to think that in those 3 simple words she even found me charming. I don’t know. We never really did do a memory lane of that night. I mean, sure we looked at the pictures a couple of times, yes there were pictures, probably lost now but we never really sat down and talked about it. Made an attempt to relive it. Get each other’s side of the story.
After all this time and I still don’t know what her first impression of me was. In those first few minutes, I mean. Before the alcohol and the dancing and the hand holding and the cigarettes and the kissing and the waking up the next morning and the asking me for a t-shirt…before any of it. I still don’t know…
“You’re really tall...”
Yup, that’s what I said. Those were my famous first words. I find it kind of embarrassing actually. Like, was that really the best you could do? Make some obvious observation about her appearance that wasn’t even really a compliment?
And here I thought I was good words…
Red nail polish. That’s something else remember. On her fingers and her toes. Red was her color in those days.
And these days? I really couldn’t tell you. Although if I was to guess, I would have to say that she outgrew the color red quite some time ago.
Gosh, you can’t imagine how much it sucks for me to know that I don’t even know that about her anymore.
Red nail polish. White jeans and this green, short sleeved turtle neck thingy that I really don’t know how to describe. That was my first image of her. The way her clothes clung to your body accentuating how perfect I thought her body was. How perfect I think her body is.
And she was pretty.
My attraction to her was instant. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. The entire night. I’m pretty sure that she noticed. I mean, I wasn’t exactly trying to be discreet about it. But then, maybe she needed the attention that night. In spite of the not so true although more true than not things she had heard about me. Maybe she needed to lock lips with someone. To rub her hips against someone. To lose herself as much as she could with someone, without losing herself completely to that someone. Only she knows.
And her answer? To my unconventional three word introduction? Probably the best answer she could have given anyone in such a situation. Two words that trumped my three to shit. That for some reason I still can’t put a finger on, made her all the more appealing. That in my mind had me.
She pursed her lips. Looked at her friend then looked back at me without turning her head. She had that amused look back on her face…
“I know.”
60 seconds…1 minute. The amount of time it took for her to walk into the room, slip off her shoes (they were slip-ons, I remember that. The brown sequined ones I think. I wonder if she still has those) and half amused, half she still didn’t know what to think of me, watch as I vomited my opening line, my grand entrance into the story of her life all over her pretty little toes.
I’ll be the first to admit, it wasn’t the grandest of entrances. It was three words. No riveting monologue. No sweeping of the feet. Three. Simple. Words. And not very good ones at that. They were the first three words that popped into my head. And they weren’t even the traditional,
“How are you?”
Maybe I should have said something else. Thought about it a little more. But then, maybe not. And maybe it’s not too far of a stretch to think that in those 3 simple words she even found me charming. I don’t know. We never really did do a memory lane of that night. I mean, sure we looked at the pictures a couple of times, yes there were pictures, probably lost now but we never really sat down and talked about it. Made an attempt to relive it. Get each other’s side of the story.
After all this time and I still don’t know what her first impression of me was. In those first few minutes, I mean. Before the alcohol and the dancing and the hand holding and the cigarettes and the kissing and the waking up the next morning and the asking me for a t-shirt…before any of it. I still don’t know…
“You’re really tall...”
Yup, that’s what I said. Those were my famous first words. I find it kind of embarrassing actually. Like, was that really the best you could do? Make some obvious observation about her appearance that wasn’t even really a compliment?
And here I thought I was good words…
Red nail polish. That’s something else remember. On her fingers and her toes. Red was her color in those days.
And these days? I really couldn’t tell you. Although if I was to guess, I would have to say that she outgrew the color red quite some time ago.
Gosh, you can’t imagine how much it sucks for me to know that I don’t even know that about her anymore.
Red nail polish. White jeans and this green, short sleeved turtle neck thingy that I really don’t know how to describe. That was my first image of her. The way her clothes clung to your body accentuating how perfect I thought her body was. How perfect I think her body is.
And she was pretty.
My attraction to her was instant. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. The entire night. I’m pretty sure that she noticed. I mean, I wasn’t exactly trying to be discreet about it. But then, maybe she needed the attention that night. In spite of the not so true although more true than not things she had heard about me. Maybe she needed to lock lips with someone. To rub her hips against someone. To lose herself as much as she could with someone, without losing herself completely to that someone. Only she knows.
And her answer? To my unconventional three word introduction? Probably the best answer she could have given anyone in such a situation. Two words that trumped my three to shit. That for some reason I still can’t put a finger on, made her all the more appealing. That in my mind had me.
She pursed her lips. Looked at her friend then looked back at me without turning her head. She had that amused look back on her face…
“I know.”
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