Skip to content

When people ask you how it is two girls fall in love, tell them this.

October 11, 2011

I lay on my stomach, waiting for her to come home while drifting in and out of sleep. I loved the sound of those stairs, she would always make her way down them really slowly, as if to surprise me, even though she knew I was waiting. She would smell like chinese food, but it couldn’t mask the natural powder scent of her skin. She was gone for six hours, and slowly lowered her body on top of mine, kissing the back of my neck and whispering “I missed you” into my ear, while my face was still buried in her pillow. I loved inhaling her sheets.

I would take that feeling for granted, thinking I deserved it and it was mine forever. Hours would go by, of us doing nothing, but somehow enjoying it. Before I knew it I would feel soft hands attached to me, taking in every pore, and I could feel her tasting my skin. I don’t know how many people get to feel a person’s lips telling them they love them with every intentional kiss venturing down their body, but it was a feeling I fear to never have again. I still daydream about her kissing my breasts while I lay down and allow her to, not needing to give her anything in return. It’s hard to believe those were my breasts; being treated so gratefully. I never appreciated my breasts before then. Never realized they could be beautiful.

It’s only something we can experience during one moment in time, even if it lasts for months. That kind of love fades, with every fight, with every familiar and ordinary feeling. That passion is meant as fuel; for writing, for art, for day dreams. Who came up with the phrase french kissing? Making out… tongue kissing…. open mouthed. Such a vulgar description for something so beautiful, so vital to love. Money can tear you apart, greeting cards can try to keep you together, but nothing works without a kiss. A kiss can be anywhere, it’s not a motion, it’s an attachment; an attachment that I yearn for, to remind me of my beauty, of hers.

Do we drag on? Our body parts representing work, angst, pain and rejection. There’s something said for not dying alone, for a type of love that’s not passionate, thats not fueled. There is comfort, there is true love. There is trust, but not the same kind; It is now an educated trust, a trust we have to rationalize.

To get to her I would take a train. The trip lasted for over an hour, flying by as I carefully applied my make up and checked my hair. I would stare in the mirror and try to read magazines, but all I could accomplish was picturing her and what was about to take place. Her face, her slouch, her smile and easiness. Ultimately what always got me was her surprise, her shocked expression. I could tell the moment she saw me that she was relieved I had traveled, lied, and put all my day’s energy into seeing her. Then, it was pure joy.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. November 1, 2011 4:13 am


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: