(no subject)
i think the heat has fried my brian. So I wrote this. It's in first person, which i haven't really done because I don't like it/it scares me. =p
(tell me what you think)
Heat
by me
It’s hot. Actually it almost seem like the temperature was beyond hot. Frankly after three days, it’s a bit ridiculous either way. The landlord has yet to stop by to check on the a/c. “I'll get to it,” his ever diligent mantra.
The bottle of white wine is slowly warming up on the coffee table between our feet. I’m trying to remember how we decided that if we were going to be hot and miserable, we might as well be drunk. I beginning to think that it wasn’t the greatest of ideas. The park might have been the better option, but I am too hot to care or move. I tilt my head to see if you’re still awake and smile. You look about as debauched as I feel in this heat; sprawled out on your side of the couch in next to nothing. The hair on your forehead is matted down from sweat and the condensation of the wine glass pressed against it. It’s weird but with the smile you’re wearing, it almost looks like you’re enjoying yourself.
“One more day,” you say when you finally notice me watching you. I can only smile back; it requires the least amount of effort. One more day until payday. One more day, until we can afford to buy an a/c unit for the window, and not have to rely on 'I’ll get to it'. One more day of heat. I hate the heat.
It’s another couple a minutes before I realize that I’m staring at you and that you’re staring back. You break away first and turn your head to look out the window. For some reason I don’t look away. We’ve lived together for the last eight months but it seems like I’m seeing you for the first time. If I wasn’t already dying from the heat I’d die from the cliché alone.
I watch the line of your neck with an absorption that I can only blame on the heat. Its lines are soft but the pulse point beats with a strength that I never noticed before. I feel my stomach clench with something I can only equate with loneliness. I find it funny that we’ve been living this close for this long and I’m only just noticing this now.
But what even funnier is how easy I find it to actually move in this heat. Closer to the point on your neck at beats in time with your heart. I want to feel the pulse under my finger or against my cheek as I settle against you, and you hold me close. I’m almost there when you suddenly turn and flinch back at the sudden closeness. I stop at the look on your face and I know you can see the embarrassment across my face.
“We should have gone to the park,” that’s what you say as to lean forward, peeling yourself away from the couch and towards the wine. I don’t move, not even when you accidently brush my hand reaching for the bottle. I know it’s accidently because of the way you draw back. I’m surprised when you get up with the bottle instead of pouring another glass. “I think we should have some water,” you comment on the way to the kitchen.
I don’t notice the feeling in my stomach anymore then I the notice how the heat’s suddenly made the air much heavier. You come back with a glass for you and me, wearing that ever present smile, “one more day.” You say.
“Yea, one more day,” I respond.
(tell me what you think)
Heat
by me
It’s hot. Actually it almost seem like the temperature was beyond hot. Frankly after three days, it’s a bit ridiculous either way. The landlord has yet to stop by to check on the a/c. “I'll get to it,” his ever diligent mantra.
The bottle of white wine is slowly warming up on the coffee table between our feet. I’m trying to remember how we decided that if we were going to be hot and miserable, we might as well be drunk. I beginning to think that it wasn’t the greatest of ideas. The park might have been the better option, but I am too hot to care or move. I tilt my head to see if you’re still awake and smile. You look about as debauched as I feel in this heat; sprawled out on your side of the couch in next to nothing. The hair on your forehead is matted down from sweat and the condensation of the wine glass pressed against it. It’s weird but with the smile you’re wearing, it almost looks like you’re enjoying yourself.
“One more day,” you say when you finally notice me watching you. I can only smile back; it requires the least amount of effort. One more day until payday. One more day, until we can afford to buy an a/c unit for the window, and not have to rely on 'I’ll get to it'. One more day of heat. I hate the heat.
It’s another couple a minutes before I realize that I’m staring at you and that you’re staring back. You break away first and turn your head to look out the window. For some reason I don’t look away. We’ve lived together for the last eight months but it seems like I’m seeing you for the first time. If I wasn’t already dying from the heat I’d die from the cliché alone.
I watch the line of your neck with an absorption that I can only blame on the heat. Its lines are soft but the pulse point beats with a strength that I never noticed before. I feel my stomach clench with something I can only equate with loneliness. I find it funny that we’ve been living this close for this long and I’m only just noticing this now.
But what even funnier is how easy I find it to actually move in this heat. Closer to the point on your neck at beats in time with your heart. I want to feel the pulse under my finger or against my cheek as I settle against you, and you hold me close. I’m almost there when you suddenly turn and flinch back at the sudden closeness. I stop at the look on your face and I know you can see the embarrassment across my face.
“We should have gone to the park,” that’s what you say as to lean forward, peeling yourself away from the couch and towards the wine. I don’t move, not even when you accidently brush my hand reaching for the bottle. I know it’s accidently because of the way you draw back. I’m surprised when you get up with the bottle instead of pouring another glass. “I think we should have some water,” you comment on the way to the kitchen.
I don’t notice the feeling in my stomach anymore then I the notice how the heat’s suddenly made the air much heavier. You come back with a glass for you and me, wearing that ever present smile, “one more day.” You say.
“Yea, one more day,” I respond.