Puddle
Here’s how I want it to be:
He comes back to town in a few weeks- just long enough to bring me to the breaking point of yearning but not so long that I forget the desire. Then, without speaking a word to one another, he grabs me by the waist and kisses me. Movie kiss. It’s a slow, long, passionate kiss and I’m so taken aback by it that at first my arms hang limp at my sides. Maybe I drop the pen that I was holding in my hand. No. Maybe I drop the glass of juice that I was holding in my hand and it spills, puddling red liquid at our feet. We assume this warm wetness is something we’ve created with our bodies; Something internal rising up from our toes. My back bends back slightly as I breathe him in. I bite his bottom lip. “I’ve been thinking about that for a long time,” he says. “Really?” I question. “Yeah. Oh yeah.”
Here’s how it will be:
I will never see him again.
