Apr 18, 2011 13:16
Lower Pierce
I remember the way the wood felt on my back, slightly damp, slightly cold.
The effects of the moisture in the air and the incessant sun beating down on it day after day had turned the wood soft,
now under our weight we could feel the seat of the bench bend slightly.
The air we breathed was laden with water vapor, being so close to such a large body of water,
being in the midst of all this greenery, in between grass and trees respiring and transpiring.
As the night grew long and the temperature around us began to dip, I could feel my skin grow moist with condensation.
Unmoving - save for our bodies breathing, save for your hands in my hair, combing my fringe back from my forehead.
We could have been two statues, letting moss grow and algae collect, I did not wish to be moved,
I just wanted to lay there for an indefinite amount of time, till the sun rose, till the sun set, till the bench weathered and finally broke.
Until the end of time.