But you are a song
This time when you went away, you took a part of me that I didn't know existed.
Waking up together and in the same world was the best thing this summer. You were still a phone call away but the distance was shorter. And hearing your morning voice, the one-before-best thing.
I could only whisper into your ear that I loved you. And you held me a little away and looked into me and told me the same. And I believed you.
And the next secret I whispered to you, I kissed you. Both of us were shocked. Its just that I couldn't resist touching you with my lips when you were but a nose distance away.
And we went to your college. You showed me everywhere that mattered and that didn't. Everywhere mattered really.
We'd squeezed through the prickly hedge and sneaked into the football ground. That was the prettiest night I ever will remember. You'd held my hand and we'd walked a little. We heard the drone of a faraway plane. We listened to the intimate night sounds. And we kissed.
I had to stand on tiptoe to reach you. Aiming for greater heights.
You had to bend low to reach me. So you lifted me up.
People tilt their faces while kissing otherwise which the nose comes in the way. We didn't have to. I have a small nose you said.
And the first time we had almost sex. You'd flicked a condom from your unsuspecting friend. And you'd confessed to me with almost embarrassment that you'd thought about carrying one.
Do you remember how I'd always said that we move from first base to directly the third? There are no shortcuts I learnt that summer when your hand went under my blouse. And how it paused every inch, worried. And finally when we were done with removing the many layers which we insisted on wearing even in summer, I looked at you. And you at me. The sunlight dappled on our naked bodies leaving fragmented patterns of warmth.
Do you remember how the doorbell rang and we jumped out of our skins. We didn't have any clothes to jump out of them anyway. I discovered that day how soon I can get dressed. Before the second insistent peal could be heard, I was signing for the courier in my roommate's name.
I'd staggered back and pressed into you, relieved. We'd both burst out laughing and gone inside to wear our clothes properly all over again.
It was the summer of incompleteness. Of almost sex and never enough kisses. Of watermelon juices that got over before you drank them to fill. Of bike rides that were too short. Of insatiable hugs. Of damp beach sands that dried too soon.
How you left is another story.
Waking up together and in the same world was the best thing this summer. You were still a phone call away but the distance was shorter. And hearing your morning voice, the one-before-best thing.
I could only whisper into your ear that I loved you. And you held me a little away and looked into me and told me the same. And I believed you.
And the next secret I whispered to you, I kissed you. Both of us were shocked. Its just that I couldn't resist touching you with my lips when you were but a nose distance away.
And we went to your college. You showed me everywhere that mattered and that didn't. Everywhere mattered really.
We'd squeezed through the prickly hedge and sneaked into the football ground. That was the prettiest night I ever will remember. You'd held my hand and we'd walked a little. We heard the drone of a faraway plane. We listened to the intimate night sounds. And we kissed.
I had to stand on tiptoe to reach you. Aiming for greater heights.
You had to bend low to reach me. So you lifted me up.
People tilt their faces while kissing otherwise which the nose comes in the way. We didn't have to. I have a small nose you said.
And the first time we had almost sex. You'd flicked a condom from your unsuspecting friend. And you'd confessed to me with almost embarrassment that you'd thought about carrying one.
Do you remember how I'd always said that we move from first base to directly the third? There are no shortcuts I learnt that summer when your hand went under my blouse. And how it paused every inch, worried. And finally when we were done with removing the many layers which we insisted on wearing even in summer, I looked at you. And you at me. The sunlight dappled on our naked bodies leaving fragmented patterns of warmth.
Do you remember how the doorbell rang and we jumped out of our skins. We didn't have any clothes to jump out of them anyway. I discovered that day how soon I can get dressed. Before the second insistent peal could be heard, I was signing for the courier in my roommate's name.
I'd staggered back and pressed into you, relieved. We'd both burst out laughing and gone inside to wear our clothes properly all over again.
It was the summer of incompleteness. Of almost sex and never enough kisses. Of watermelon juices that got over before you drank them to fill. Of bike rides that were too short. Of insatiable hugs. Of damp beach sands that dried too soon.
posted by Mrs. Dalloway | 12:00 AM
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