The Off-White Picket Fence
You left home wearing his kiss.
Uncomfortable and thick like a rainy day in July, you couldn’t wait to wipe it off with the corner of your sleeve; couldn’t wait to replace it with her favorite shade of lipstick - a savory scarlet with more reddish hues than your face when she told you how beautiful you looked that day. You giggled like a schoolgirl with a Valentine crush;
“Thank you, Jessica”
Always when you leave, his “I love you” remains dangling on the lobes of your ears, eager to climb in and nestle in your mind; a most unwelcome visitor. You thought that maybe if you tried harder the words wouldn’t sound so scathing (because any three words as powerful as those would be scathing if they punctured your lungs to have you choke on guilt). That maybe, given six more months, eight, you could learn to love him. But you were never that fast of a learner when it came to lessons of the heart.
You came home with new habits.
The way she clicks her teeth, the hand over her mouth when she laughs heartily, how she folds her tongue over your name when you’re together (“Tiffany…”). The gentle lilac scent of her hair, dancing eyelashes along your cheek when you make love; femininity divine.
So you packed all that you own away in a couple of nondescript cardboard boxes and went to find a new home. With her.
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A/N: Just a little something I wrote to ease the stress. Hope everyone is well and good and that the week is treating you kindly.
Uncomfortable and thick like a rainy day in July, you couldn’t wait to wipe it off with the corner of your sleeve; couldn’t wait to replace it with her favorite shade of lipstick - a savory scarlet with more reddish hues than your face when she told you how beautiful you looked that day. You giggled like a schoolgirl with a Valentine crush;
“Thank you, Jessica”
Always when you leave, his “I love you” remains dangling on the lobes of your ears, eager to climb in and nestle in your mind; a most unwelcome visitor. You thought that maybe if you tried harder the words wouldn’t sound so scathing (because any three words as powerful as those would be scathing if they punctured your lungs to have you choke on guilt). That maybe, given six more months, eight, you could learn to love him. But you were never that fast of a learner when it came to lessons of the heart.
You came home with new habits.
The way she clicks her teeth, the hand over her mouth when she laughs heartily, how she folds her tongue over your name when you’re together (“Tiffany…”). The gentle lilac scent of her hair, dancing eyelashes along your cheek when you make love; femininity divine.
So you packed all that you own away in a couple of nondescript cardboard boxes and went to find a new home. With her.
______________________________________________________________________
A/N: Just a little something I wrote to ease the stress. Hope everyone is well and good and that the week is treating you kindly.