(no subject)
Author: moi
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters have been altered to fit VAM but this is based on a real experience of my own. Can be read from either POV
Summary: A monologue styled short piece about a sad soul. Based on events involving myself and someone close to me, and the events that have occured over this year as it draws to a close.
It started at that dinner party…no ,before then. Much longer before in a place and time where the air isn’t hot and the glinting of full wine glasses doesn’t sting my eyes. Somewhere before the kisses and the place where our friends and family laugh over a cluttered table and the sweetness of the drink makes my teeth ache.
It started in the school field where we sat years ago on summer dried grass and ate together because together, ironically, we were alone. Smiles. Jokes. Something sweet tasting exchanged in foil. The smell of soil and dirty knees. Everything so simple.
We kiss. No, we didn’t, wait. It’s not that time yet.
Fast forward and we’re in your bedroom and I’m bitter and weeping over someone I can’t remember, the pounding in my head and chest mimicking the bass of your stereo. Your arms encircle my waist, they’re safe and like the secret promises to be kept in our future. The piles of cast off clothes on your floor carry the scent of you and turn into pavingstones on the street before my eyes. Not then, not yet.
Outside at night in your driveway the smell of oil from your father’s cars and the sound of the invisible river lapping under the concrete makes me dizzy. The weather was cold that month. Closer, but no.
Months later, my bed. Ours. The dinner party. Drunken whispers between playful smiling. “Can I kiss you” “Yes”. Sheets crease in the dark and the spring is still too chilly. Our skins are clammy and our hands a clash of culture but they don’t let go. Only time to be still, not then.
The summer. Half apologetic standoffish kisses. The smell of something stale and hangovers hundreds of miles from home. Yes, here. The place where it hits and where it hurts. You say there’s someone else to help you pass the time. The bitter inevitable confessions at 3am. The revelation that I am the wrong sex for our sex.
The place where it started, the place where it burns in my chest line the bass line and the glitter of glass.
I sigh and scorn all I have to offer. But no, not all’s lost.
Downstairs somewhere there’s a dinner party where you’ll always be mine, always
and never.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters have been altered to fit VAM but this is based on a real experience of my own. Can be read from either POV
Summary: A monologue styled short piece about a sad soul. Based on events involving myself and someone close to me, and the events that have occured over this year as it draws to a close.
It started at that dinner party…no ,before then. Much longer before in a place and time where the air isn’t hot and the glinting of full wine glasses doesn’t sting my eyes. Somewhere before the kisses and the place where our friends and family laugh over a cluttered table and the sweetness of the drink makes my teeth ache.
It started in the school field where we sat years ago on summer dried grass and ate together because together, ironically, we were alone. Smiles. Jokes. Something sweet tasting exchanged in foil. The smell of soil and dirty knees. Everything so simple.
We kiss. No, we didn’t, wait. It’s not that time yet.
Fast forward and we’re in your bedroom and I’m bitter and weeping over someone I can’t remember, the pounding in my head and chest mimicking the bass of your stereo. Your arms encircle my waist, they’re safe and like the secret promises to be kept in our future. The piles of cast off clothes on your floor carry the scent of you and turn into pavingstones on the street before my eyes. Not then, not yet.
Outside at night in your driveway the smell of oil from your father’s cars and the sound of the invisible river lapping under the concrete makes me dizzy. The weather was cold that month. Closer, but no.
Months later, my bed. Ours. The dinner party. Drunken whispers between playful smiling. “Can I kiss you” “Yes”. Sheets crease in the dark and the spring is still too chilly. Our skins are clammy and our hands a clash of culture but they don’t let go. Only time to be still, not then.
The summer. Half apologetic standoffish kisses. The smell of something stale and hangovers hundreds of miles from home. Yes, here. The place where it hits and where it hurts. You say there’s someone else to help you pass the time. The bitter inevitable confessions at 3am. The revelation that I am the wrong sex for our sex.
The place where it started, the place where it burns in my chest line the bass line and the glitter of glass.
I sigh and scorn all I have to offer. But no, not all’s lost.
Downstairs somewhere there’s a dinner party where you’ll always be mine, always
and never.