Sweaty summer nights that graciously secede from the sweltering long days. Naked flesh adheres to the fabric draped across my body, the sheets clinging, swaddling, ensnaring.
The fan rustling in perpetual motion…barely audible vibrations now so familiar rattle the bed or a car door slams in the nearly vacant suburban lane rippling the window panes ever so slightly. Cats cuddling, pouncing, climbing and falling. I slip in and out of consciousness confusing my dreams for reality and vice versa.
These are vulnerable moments, naked and bare but riddled with intimacy. Thousands of nights like this can pass and little thought will be placed upon them, but share these moments with another and in their absence you realize how empty you can truly be.
A barren canvas your bed has now become, a nude stomach illuminated by a crescent moon flows back to memories of hands sliding, floating, hovering just above its tiny abyss of a bellybutton. A careful finger dipping in and out of the tiny crevice of your stomach sliding in the dip of your sternum. A hand stroking down the small of your back and applying just the tiniest bit of pressure, pulling you in, holding you, comforting you, protecting you.
Hair clings at high cheek bones and whips at the corners of the mouth. My eyelashes batting back each strand and batting steadily, quietly, in near syncopation to my pulse. A careful examination of neck, chest, or stomach reveals tiny palpitations of blood pressure. Proof that I’m living, pulsating, existing with little thought but great care and complexity. Not by choice, but by nature and design, a marvel that exists in varying forms as many as 6,601,891,947 (total population of the World, projected to 06/16/07 at 00:51 GMT (EST+5)) times. Each heart and hip carved with slightly different angularity, different fibers of muscle and mineral culminating to create life. So here I am. There you are. Here we all are. Human and alive.
It’s lonesome nights like these that haunt and leave scars.
I wish I knew what I did to make you stop liking me. It hurts because I still like you... a lot.
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