sunday night
A stray strand of milky light filtered from the leaves above, hitting the window of his house and casting a small glow on his feet. He looked down at his shoes staring at the blurred and morphed vision of his face while being in his blue jeans and green shirt. The glow of our friend's cigarette stubs jammed between their lips was offset by the brightness and clarity of the moon.
He glanced sideways at the rustle of leaves. A small animal ran quickly up the trunk of the tree and into the upper branches. I watched the branches sway and swing and suddenly he wished he could be alone with me instead of around everyone. It felt right. He looked up at me and we decided to leave. The night was still silent, dark and subdued. We arrived at his house with its intricate dolphin wind chime, inviting chairs and couches, and the tv that was calling his name. He ran his hands through my hair and his fingers across my face fondly and let the memories float back. He took my hand kissing it gently and gripping it tightly as he lead me toward the couch. There had been many good times, many happy memories at his house. He glanced at the doors again and dimmed the lights to suit my comfort. It was getting colder. He shifted closer and closer to me to generate body heat. It still didn't feel right. Too quiet. Too peaceful.
Maybe peace was a good thing. I doubted it. Silence is always an interim, a quiet period before an event. The longer the 'peace' the worst the event. That was my theory anyway. He lit another candle and exhaled deeply. (more in private entry) ...
He glanced sideways at the rustle of leaves. A small animal ran quickly up the trunk of the tree and into the upper branches. I watched the branches sway and swing and suddenly he wished he could be alone with me instead of around everyone. It felt right. He looked up at me and we decided to leave. The night was still silent, dark and subdued. We arrived at his house with its intricate dolphin wind chime, inviting chairs and couches, and the tv that was calling his name. He ran his hands through my hair and his fingers across my face fondly and let the memories float back. He took my hand kissing it gently and gripping it tightly as he lead me toward the couch. There had been many good times, many happy memories at his house. He glanced at the doors again and dimmed the lights to suit my comfort. It was getting colder. He shifted closer and closer to me to generate body heat. It still didn't feel right. Too quiet. Too peaceful.
Maybe peace was a good thing. I doubted it. Silence is always an interim, a quiet period before an event. The longer the 'peace' the worst the event. That was my theory anyway. He lit another candle and exhaled deeply. (more in private entry) ...