I don’t know how we got where we were but we did and you were pressed against me and the wall and I could feel all the curves of your body on mine. I have no idea if you took my shirt off or whether I did it myself but now I can feel a thousand short sparks everytime your fingers brush against my back. I’ll admit I’m feeling tipsy and you probally are too. I don’t know. I know this is the last thing I should be doing but we all know how sweet sin is. When I kiss you, you still taste the same as you did all those years ago. And you taste as different as the years we’ve led to this point. But surprise is not a long advantage so pretty soon all I want is more of you. Your tongue brushes against mine as I lift you up and you wrap your legs around my waist. I take it as an invitation and seek it out with mine. You moan softly in my mouth and its like I’m filled of the raw essence of passion. My right hand travels up your blouse and I reach for your breasts..almost by instinct but you catch it and stop me.
Maybe it’s how unexpected it was or maybe I still had enough sense in me that made me stop and pull away from your lips. My heart is racing in my chest and I think you can feel it. I look at you and your head is hung infront of me and your hand is still on my arm. It feels hot. I step back a little bit and set your down on the floor slowly, struggling not to think about all the dirty things I want to do to you. Your little frame is now a shadow against the white walls and I stand before you, waiting. Waiting for you to tell me that I was wrong but this was right. Waiting for you to overthink just enough to damn us all to hell. Waiting for you to take all the blame. But instead. All I here from you is a quiet sniff.
“why do you always do this to me?”
And I don’t know how to answer questions such as those. For I had long since given up trying to understand the meaning of everything. Paths such as those often lead to nothing but sadness and I wasn’t built a body that could stand such sadness. So I stay quiet. A few seconds pass before you raise your head and stare up into my eyes. Your black mascara is smudged around the edges of your wet eyes and you have lonely strands of hair on your face. I move my hand to your face but you look away. A thousand years ago, I’d have crumbled in the pain of such rejection. A hundred years ago I did crumble. But now, all I feel is the cold air between my fingers.
“why do you always do this to me?”
I know I have to say something. But words have become as meaningless as everything else. I know I should tell you a half sun half storm kind of story that sort of undamns us but I simply cannot. The words play in my mind and I know you won’t believe a single one of them. They reaarange to form the conversation we would have and the at the end of that, we are both still just a pile of broken bottles lying on a floor after a long night of partying. You walk away with the kind of heaviness that tears me apart. And you leave me with the kind of emptiness that I deserve.
So I still say nothing.
This time you let me touch your face. This time you look up at me and your eyes smile a little. This time the traces of your fingernails on my back do not bleed. I hold your face in both my hands and I notice that I shake a little. I feel your skin beneath my palms and I know what it’s like to be alive again. A short minute passes. You place your hands on my chest and push me away from you. Slowly. Then you start to walk away. You push your dress down to your knees and you turn back to look at me.
Somewhere inside my head, I hear someone answer.
“Because you let me. “