Status: in progress
Midnight Thoughts
June 6th
It was hot, it was humid, it was summer. It was no different in the tiny bedroom and the air was thick with a combination of smoke and sweat. They laid there in the dark, naked, motionless. Their chests rising and falling with staggered breath after fucking for too long in the stuffy room with bad lungs. The windows were closed and the fan was on, but it didn’t take away from the heat. The dim light from her laptop screen illuminated the sweat on their skin, glistening in the blue glow. He watched her sleep, her eyelids fluttering and her round eyes rolling underneath. Her mouth was slightly open, inviting, relaxed. The curves of her nakedness caught the light and she looked picturesque. He traced a finger down her arm, hand coming to rest on her hip, her soft skin slightly sticky from the nights activities.
He wanted her, all of her, every part. She was odd and slightly standoffish, making obscure statements and letting her words fall off into silence. Contemplative silence. She never finished a thought, well not an intimate thought, never out loud. She was self aware and overly critical, never letting herself continue into anything too heavy. She worried; he saw it in her face. She worried she was too intense and that she would scare him away. She said it frequently. She’d hold the cigarette against her lips and stare off into nothing before taking a drag. Dragging in smoke into her lungs hoping the light headedness would clear her thoughts and empty her crowded mind. He watched her face change in an instant when she thought she shared something too personal. She would look at him and give a faint smile and look back into the empty space before her, taking another drag and resting her elbow on the edge of his open car window.
He liked watching her sleep, she finally seemed at peace. He liked when she would roll over and press up against him. Unconsciously folding into him, making herself as close as possible. On nights like this they stuck together, and although it was uncomfortable he would manage. It was mildly uncomfortable and the trade off was well worth it. If he had the power he would stay like this forever. If he could capture this feeling of peace he would. It was quiet and intimate and lovely. She was lovely. Everything about her was his favorite thing. He loved her, wholly. She was perfect to him and there wasn’t a thing about her he didn’t like. He tried to find something, but nothing stood out to him as unbearable. She had quirks, everybody does. Those quirks made her who she was, who he was enamored with. He didn’t want anything else, anybody else, just her as she was. He wanted her happy, if he had to change one thing, he wanted her to be truthfully happy.
He was young and new and in love. She was four years older and carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her life had aged her and made her hard and wary. He wanted her to open up to him, but every time she went deeper into her life the more awkward she became. Suddenly becoming aware and growing quiet and removing herself from the conversation, making an excuse to leave. Ending things with a text saying to forget what was said and quickly adding a joke or changing the subject. It was a routine and it was sad. Not in a pathetic way, just sad. Watching her silently relive her past without being able to let herself open up, without self-doubt dragging her thoughts inward. He felt inadequate not knowing how to respond to her or reassure her. All he knew was to kiss her and hold her close but he knew she over thought these actions. Mistaking his want to be close to her for uncomfortable escape. He loved her. He wanted to tell her, but he knew it would be a rash and poor decision.
They had only known each other for a month at best, not the right time for serious commitments and sentiments. He’d never been in love, he didn’t know what it felt like. He could be wrong, he could be right, he could be infatuated and caught up in his first intimate connection. Either way he couldn’t say I love you and be another name to put on her list of lessons, teaching her to be even harder and more reserved.
He loved her. She hoped.
He wanted her, all of her, every part. She was odd and slightly standoffish, making obscure statements and letting her words fall off into silence. Contemplative silence. She never finished a thought, well not an intimate thought, never out loud. She was self aware and overly critical, never letting herself continue into anything too heavy. She worried; he saw it in her face. She worried she was too intense and that she would scare him away. She said it frequently. She’d hold the cigarette against her lips and stare off into nothing before taking a drag. Dragging in smoke into her lungs hoping the light headedness would clear her thoughts and empty her crowded mind. He watched her face change in an instant when she thought she shared something too personal. She would look at him and give a faint smile and look back into the empty space before her, taking another drag and resting her elbow on the edge of his open car window.
He liked watching her sleep, she finally seemed at peace. He liked when she would roll over and press up against him. Unconsciously folding into him, making herself as close as possible. On nights like this they stuck together, and although it was uncomfortable he would manage. It was mildly uncomfortable and the trade off was well worth it. If he had the power he would stay like this forever. If he could capture this feeling of peace he would. It was quiet and intimate and lovely. She was lovely. Everything about her was his favorite thing. He loved her, wholly. She was perfect to him and there wasn’t a thing about her he didn’t like. He tried to find something, but nothing stood out to him as unbearable. She had quirks, everybody does. Those quirks made her who she was, who he was enamored with. He didn’t want anything else, anybody else, just her as she was. He wanted her happy, if he had to change one thing, he wanted her to be truthfully happy.
He was young and new and in love. She was four years older and carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her life had aged her and made her hard and wary. He wanted her to open up to him, but every time she went deeper into her life the more awkward she became. Suddenly becoming aware and growing quiet and removing herself from the conversation, making an excuse to leave. Ending things with a text saying to forget what was said and quickly adding a joke or changing the subject. It was a routine and it was sad. Not in a pathetic way, just sad. Watching her silently relive her past without being able to let herself open up, without self-doubt dragging her thoughts inward. He felt inadequate not knowing how to respond to her or reassure her. All he knew was to kiss her and hold her close but he knew she over thought these actions. Mistaking his want to be close to her for uncomfortable escape. He loved her. He wanted to tell her, but he knew it would be a rash and poor decision.
They had only known each other for a month at best, not the right time for serious commitments and sentiments. He’d never been in love, he didn’t know what it felt like. He could be wrong, he could be right, he could be infatuated and caught up in his first intimate connection. Either way he couldn’t say I love you and be another name to put on her list of lessons, teaching her to be even harder and more reserved.
He loved her. She hoped.