A Glimpse of Happiness
will you tell me?
“Would you like it, if I say I've built you a world in my chest?” she asks, fixing me with the innocence of her stare, the trouble in her eyes something you don't see everyday. I turn over and contemplate to wear jeans today, or my favourite skirt, the one I stole from my sister's closet, and decide to save that thought for later. Sometimes it amazes me how some people can make decisions in bed.
“That's romantic,” I tell her, brushing her hair with my nose and leaving a grin on the cusp of her head. “Too romantic, I suppose. Not for me.”
She scoots closer, and I don't think I've concentrated that harder. On her skin like pillows that smells of flowers. She giggles, leaving butterflies tumbling out of my chest. “I've been trying to tell you how I feel.”
“And how do you think you're doing, so far?”
“I'm all out, I think.” She raises her hands and let her fingers mingle with the dust in the air. They dance with the sunlight, and for a second I'm scared it'll melt her fingers away. Until she hastily drops them down. “You're not too fond with any of them, so they don't count.”
I sit up, and look at her, marveling at the fairy in the cream-coloured oblivion of my sheets. “Do they have to?”
She smiles, and I guess my postponed decision on what to wear would be later-later indeed. There's no trouble in her eyes anymore, if there ever was.
“No, they don't!”
It amazes me how, sometimes, I can't not-kiss her either.
“That's romantic,” I tell her, brushing her hair with my nose and leaving a grin on the cusp of her head. “Too romantic, I suppose. Not for me.”
She scoots closer, and I don't think I've concentrated that harder. On her skin like pillows that smells of flowers. She giggles, leaving butterflies tumbling out of my chest. “I've been trying to tell you how I feel.”
“And how do you think you're doing, so far?”
“I'm all out, I think.” She raises her hands and let her fingers mingle with the dust in the air. They dance with the sunlight, and for a second I'm scared it'll melt her fingers away. Until she hastily drops them down. “You're not too fond with any of them, so they don't count.”
I sit up, and look at her, marveling at the fairy in the cream-coloured oblivion of my sheets. “Do they have to?”
She smiles, and I guess my postponed decision on what to wear would be later-later indeed. There's no trouble in her eyes anymore, if there ever was.
“No, they don't!”
It amazes me how, sometimes, I can't not-kiss her either.