For the second time.
I wanted to do it for third,
And the fourth
And the fifth.
He kissed me for the sixth time,
And the seventh.
We paused at the eighth,
or maybe it was the ninth.
I had lost count by then
We were too invested in the night
By the tenth kiss
frantically searched for a place
to call home.
Eleventh Twelfth and Thirteenth kiss merged in to one
My hands had fallen on to his heaving chest
just enough to feel his heart thud and hammer against his rib cage
His hands sought refuge on my thighs
that had started to feel like a fire-place;
warm and comforting.
We stopped before the twentieth kiss
Aware of our pounding hearts and the scars on his neck
Aware of the beginnings of a sun rise through the curtains
Aware of reality outside the door.
She tried to leave you with all her scars etched to your skin
but all she could manage was the wine stain on the glass;
She tried to cut pieces of her heart
and leave them around for you,
hoping against all odds that you’ll follow the trail
that would lead you straight back to her;
But all she could do was draw lines with crooked edges
on the paper where she wrote your name a million times.
And by the end of the flower stems and letters she never sent,
She almost always swore upon
all the stars in that brightly lit sky
That you were something real.
First we build and build and build. And then we watch it all fall down. We build relationships, we build houses, we build dreams. And then one by one, sooner or later they all come crashing down till you’re left with nothing but memories of what it used to be. Memories of who you were.Cause after all that’s happened to you, and after all the crashing and the tumbling, you’re a different person. You either learn to build from what you broke or you don’t but then you keep breaking it over and over again till you’re left with absolutely nothing. Nothing but your bones and your flesh. Your broken bones and raw flesh. And for a while, even that’s enough. That’s company itself, until you get used to it. Then it’s not. Then its just the same old routine and you want more. you keep wanting more. and more. Sometimes you get more. Just sometimes.
Thing is, we can’t stop building. Every day we build something new. We either strengthen a friendship or weaken it. We either end our dream or get one step closer to it. We’re always building something whether we want to or not. Whether we like it or not. And who’s to say it doesn’t make us who we are? Who’s to say it doesn’t make us whole? Cause it does. It all does. We build to break and learn to build again. Its inevitable. Isn’t it?
I could get that musky smell from his body on my clothes. Traces of his scars lingered on my neck. His steamy breath felt like fire against my back. it was a cold night. The rain hammered hard against the window. Cars flew past. But we were oblivious to everything but each other. It was a cold night, but his breath, his warm breath against the nape of my neck promised me of warmer things. Of warmer luck. That’s what it was. Luck. 50 billion girls and I his tonight. It was My neck he was kissing. It was ME. Course, no one, not even I want to be a possession or belong to anyone but he had his own way of owning me. Maybe it was the way his brown eyes glistened as they pierced through mine leaving me naked and lifeless. Maybe it was the way his coarse hands could softly graze my back making me tremble at his slightest softest touch. It was almost electric. His hands grazed up and down my thigh, setting them on fire, as the stubble from his face tickled my neck and cheeks. His tongue moved along mine, almost in a non rhythmic motion. Tracing my skin, he made me his. He was soft. Gentle. The opposite of what his physical appearance deemed him to be. He held me as if I were a porcelain doll and never did let me go. Would this all just be make-believe if I woke up? Would it be make believe just like everything else?