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8 Loves

August 4, 2015

“Wanna go for a drive?” he asks. I drop what I’m doing and throw some shoes on. We wind through country roads in the little convertible. Or maybe over the bridge and along the beach. We don’t talk much, just listen to the music we both like. Maybe we stop for ice cream. If I’m lucky, I make him laugh. He gives me a memory of a good day.

He chats with me all day, jokes, quips, teasing, coded messages, songs… He calls me on his way home and we talk for hours. He picks me up by my waist and puts me up on the bench, my pink skirt flying up. He kisses me in the pool.

“Do you want something to drink? Do you want to talk? Do you want to kiss?” he asks me. “What was that last one?” I say. When he is lying next to me, his head propped up on his hand, he tells me he can see the world in my eyes.

He unexpectedly kisses me at the bar at the end of the night. I’m taken off guard. We go into the alley and he kisses me again. “This is the part where you’re supposed to ask me to come to your apartment,” he says. I become something good in his life. He talks to me about world cultures as he holds the globe in his hands. I like running my hands through his long black hair.

He’s making me dinner. My apartment smells of strange spices. He holds me in the kitchen and kisses me. We watch a movie without getting through it. He walks in the door and pulls me to him, kissing me. Our clothes are strewn on the floor. He talks to me all night, asking questions. He says I’ve changed him. He shows up at the park because I say I won’t see him. He looks at me with those beautiful, brown, almond eyes and my heart just melted. He texts me, “I love you.” He drives up on my birthday surprising me. My hand is on his back and I’m imagining that he can feel everything that he is to me. I’m wondering how many times I will get to hold him like I am now.

He’s walking across the parking lot, a bottle of wine in his bag. He’s picking on me with his lilted, accented voice. He’s holding my hand. His hands are in my hair. He puts his forehead on mine. “Do you want to kiss me?” he asks. He moves his chin until his lips touch mine ever so carefully. I can hear him laughing in the other room. He’s watching Seinfeld. He’s rowing the canoe in front of me excited to see an alligator. He’s talking about his childhood. His arm touches mine as we stand on the platform and he takes a picture of our shadows on the moss.

He’s reading every entry I’ve written. I’m listening to his voice on the recording he sent. He’s speaking French. He sounds nervous. His voice is deep and smooth. He’s breathing heavily. He’s telling me to come see him. He’s saying he wants me.

He’s kissing me on the sidewalk. He’s telling me that he’s afraid to fall in love with me. He’s moving his fingers along my face, neck, arms and stomach and whispering beautiful things in my ear. He’s saying my name and it sounds like I’ve never heard it before. He runs his fingers through my hair over and over as my body relaxes into his chest. He’s reading my words.

He’s not saying anything when I tell him, “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

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From → Rantings

2 Comments
  1. Kitten permalink

    Thank you. : )

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