Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Ode to you

I am flying through the night, no more than eighty, no less than seventy-three. The stars and that one planet--you know if you're looking at a planet because they don't twinkle, but shine instead--are my companions as I make the three-and-change hour trip in darkness.

Color me irresponsible--I need to be at work at 7:30, morningtime. I leave home at 3:00, middle-of-the-night-time.

I couldn't leave. The warm scent of your skin next to mine left me trapped in your room, more bound than usual. Your bed is made of magnets, I said, in the haze of our forever conversation.

What started out as a text to make you feel badly for not talking to me turned into me leaving my house to see you before making the trek back to South Florida. I knew there was no way I'd be leaving by eight, but I expected to at least leave by nine... maybe ten.

You let me wear your shorts as I demonstrate yoga poses to you, and we end up wrapped together on the floor, your head in my lap, and your lips pressing lightly against my stomach; giving me butterfly kisses. I rub my hand across your head like a mother would to her child as we talk about the topic du jour--a friend's pregnancy; a co-worker's firing. You press your head into my stomach and pretend that you hear a baby in there--your idea of a joke, as I playfully slap your arm and tell you to cut it out, but my insides flutter at the mere sight of your head pressed to my abdomen, and I want to walk out of my body when you kiss my bellybutton. There is no baby in there, after all, but the thought is nice. (For later on in life.)

Your head floats up from my lap and our lips meet in mid-air, and the feeling is indescribable. ...using words to try to say, what I feel... Your soft lips are drowning me in the water of you, as we inch closer and closer to the ground, still wrapped in our warm, yellow-brown pretzel.

In typical fashion, our clothes are discarded as kisses explode between us. I suck your tongue and you bite my bottom lip lightly as we grope our way backwards through the haven of your space. Instead of crawling out of skin, I now want to jump out of my skin as your strokes ignite a fire in me like I swear I've never felt before. I weep in between growling and staring you down, wondering how you could possibly be doing something so... so... so fucking beautifully carnal to me.

We finish...

and it's already past ten. And I won't go.

We're supposed to shower, but somehow we embark on a conversational path we have journeyed before, though with less positive results--talking about each other.

I lie on my stomach, with my arm draped across your chest, and I touch you slowly, and you lie on your back; your hand tracing the curve of me. You ask me why I hang out with you, and I tell you that I'm comfortable. And when I ask you the same, your answer echoes mine.

And it's then when I realize, that I'm a fool for trying to be rid of you. So tired of being in love with you, I thought I was, but with my nose buried in your chest, absorbing the warmth that is you, I realize I can't live without you. (Though someday soon, I will have to.) My love for you will always exist--lifetimes and lifetimes away from this day, there will still burn a flicker of flame with your name dancing within.

We share thoughts, and time slips by us silently--every time I look up, I look away, refusing to go back to the reality that is my life away from your room; away from you. The intimacy of our conversation feels new, though we've spent thousands of hundreds of millions of minutes in the throes of conversational love. I drink of you with my eyes, taking all of you to memory--the shape of your lips when you curve them in a smirk; the way your eyelashes curl toward your ceiling; the shape of your nose; the way your forehead furrows when you're thinking or intrigued. I inhale your scent and rub my hands about you, hoping to mark myself with your fragrance forever. I curl into you, safe and warm, as time steals by us.

It is at some point that you joke that I've got it bad for you, and after we get caught up in our flesh again, I whisper to you that it's true--I've really got it bad. You fail to understand why I would deal with you, and why I would accept having it bad for you, knowing that you will fail to reciprocate, and you tell me that you're a jerk. I snuggle up to you and grab your face, pulling you into me, shushing you and kissing your soft cheek; telling you the truth of it all: you are not a jerk.

Time has left us staring at 3 am, and I want to stay wrapped in you forever, sleeping by your side until we see dawn, together. But I still have an almost four hour drive ahead of me, and work to be seen at the end of those four hours. Without time to waste, I bury my face in the comforter that smells of us, and push myself off the edge of your bed. Fuck my life, I exclaim as I quickly stand up and head back to reality.

Driving in the night, with the stars as my guide, I could swear I see a shooting star fall in the sky. My instantaneous wish is for you, as they all always are. I drive on, reflecting to myself about you; thanking my God and the universe for bringing you to me, and considering myself lucky to love you. Everyone deserves someone to love them, flaws and all. You will never be a mistake to me--you've changed the very path my life walks upon. You will never be a jerk, never be a bad person, never be someone I won't be fascinated by, never be someone I won't pray for. I've found, through you, that love is not as simple as I imagined it to be; not as fairytale as I thought it was; not as painless as I said it should be. No pain, no gain, the song goes.

I fly through the night, going no more than eighty, and no less than seventy-three. I shed tears of joy; how lucky I am... I don't believe in luck, but how lucky I am to have you--in whatever way I have you.

I am irresponsible, driving without having slept on a journey to a reality that is not mine.

I am foolish, for being so deeply enraptured with a person who quite possibly will never feel the same for me.

I am fatigued, sipping an energy drink which will make me jumpy later on.

I am crazy.

I am a fool in hope for love.

I wish upon shooting stars in the night's sky.

I am fascinated.

I am lucky.

I am alive.


words will never be able to appropriately address the topic of you.


Anonymous said...

I think you're my favorite writer.

Scratch that.

You are.

Miss Malorie said...


Thank you. That's the nicest thing I think anyone has ever said to me. Ever.

*swoons again*

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