Im laying in my bed. You’re laying in my bed too. Warm bodies. Warm minds occupying warm bodies.
Chests rising and falling as the sea laps the shore outside my window. The kinetic energy of the waves perfectly filling the fermata of your pulse.
Your heart is throbbing under my temple. I’m nervous in moments like this. We are so close. Can you read my mind from here?
If you can, I don’t want you to see me stumbling over my words like loose stones. Losing my footing clumsily. Toppling into an abyss of «what ifs». They echo and ricochet until I can’t even remember what they were referring to. Where am I again? Is this still my room?
I’ve been here before. Not long ago. But, his hands felt different tracing my nipples. And before him, he preferred tracing the small of my back. I’m most scared of these moments when I feel human. They never last as long as I want them to.
I shut my eyes so there’s no evidence of my labored analysis. Only sea breeze and sunsets.
Months of life in black and white. All alarms and doors. Nausea at the sight of sweet couples wrapped up on train platforms and in dark bars.I had almost come to terms with a life of calloused bitterness. A hopeless romantic turned romantically hopeless. All before 25.
Now, I’m inspecting your hands in mine like they are the most precious of metals. Not floating above myself, but actually inside myself. While you’re inside of me.
I consider running. Physically rolling out of bed. Pulling on my clothes. Bolting for the door. Leaving you naked and vulnerable. Confused.
You’re pulling me closer into you.
If my world ends in a fiery disaster, it will have to have been worth this Mediterranean embrace.
