Daydreams

We would live by the beach. Always the beach. I would have a small herb garden. I would grow thyme and rosemary. I would wear an apron and make breakfast. You would smell my hair and tell me good morning. You would make the toast and set the table.

We would sit watching the waves while we ate. After we ate we would go for a walk along the beach. Barefoot. I would ask you to walk closer to the ocean. Our feet would touch the soft sand, and then as we walked further the sand would become damper and firmer. We would walk along the shore, cold water rushing over our toes and then retreating.

I would hold your hand and tell you stories about when I was a little girl. You would bring my hand to your lips and kiss my fingertips. You would tell me about places you've traveled to and what food tastes like in France and what it's like to live Morocco.

And then I'd take my dress off and walk into the ocean and you would watch me. You would smile and join me. The water would be cold and our pulse would quicken. We would kiss.

Once we got back to our house we would take a shower. You'd pick me up and fuck me against the shower wall.

You would help me wash my hair. I would wash your back. Gently tracing your spine with my fingers.

And then we would take a nap in our bed, and wonder if we were dreaming or if this was real.

And when I'd wake up alone to the sound of traffic. I'd know, it had only been a dream. And I would ache to sleep again.

Niloc

He told me that he would ride the bus all day on the weekends. He rode the bus because he felt safe on the bus. He knew when he got home his mother would be drunk or passed out, he prayed she would be passed out in the house and not the front yard. 

He had a collection of postcards from his dad. 

Paris.

Canada.

Australia.

London. 

The same message:

"Hi, I miss you! I love you! Take care of your mom." 

It's hard to say if his dad knew the impact that the last statement had on his son. 

I guess we'll never know. 

He was a friend of a friend. When I saw him I knew I wanted him. He was shy and beautiful. We talked for hours. He was so quiet, I thought if I interrupted him he'd never talk again. So, I sat and listened to everything he said. He was gentle and kind. I wasn't ready for something so serious. I was immature and selfish. 

I was also an alcoholic. 

I would call and he would pick me up from wherever I was. He would pick me up from random houses, bars, parks and stores.

We would go back to his apartment. He would hold me while I cried about things I couldn’t articulate. He would remain quiet when I yelled and screamed at him. He would pick me up when I had fallen asleep on his doorstep. 

And then one day he said,

“I can’t keep watching you hurt yourself.”

I was so arrogant. I told him I only answered to myself. I told him a lot of stupid things. 

It was a year before I saw him again. We were at a friends house the other day and we laughed and joked, we had a few drinks and talked about movies and books and places we’ve been. And then he left suddenly and he seemed upset. After he was gone I asked a mutual friend, if he was ok. And our friend said, “He likes you. He’s happy you’re doing better. He just doesn’t trust you or himself around you.”

I smiled and nodded.  

I left after a few minutes and called him. He didn’t answer. I guess I didn’t expect he would.

I remember what it felt like to kiss him. He has these really long arms and soft skin that always felt a little clammy. Whenever he kissed me his lips would tremble. He has light brown hair with golden strands of blond hair, and when the sun hits it, it almost looks like he's glowing. 

On the drive home, I had a thought, "While I’m recovering from alcohol and drugs, he’s recovering from me." 

I cried all the way home, again.  

Later

"Later alligator."

"In a while crocodile."

It took me less than ten seconds to fall in love.

I don't know why I said it. I was late for work and walking out the door. I absentmindedly kissed his lips and  walked out the door.

And before the door shut, I heard him say, "In a while crocodile."

I didn't see his face. But I'd seen it enough to know what his expression would have been. He would have been smirking . I was walking down the steps and I mouthed the words again.

Tears welled up in my eyes. The heat of the sun warmed my face and my eyes spilled over with tears. I was walking, almost proud, with head held high. I didn't bother to wipe away the tears.

There had been many times when I had fallen out of love in seconds. Moments where I would see someone and not only become indifferent to him but also repulsed. It was something he said or a gesture he made. It could have been his mispronunciation of a word or a moment after he came, his dick still inside me. I never knew why, just that in whatever moment it was, I'd fallen out of love.

This had been the only time I had fallen in love in seconds.

Less than ten seconds. I guess like Dostoevsky says, "A moment of happiness...Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of man's life?"

Untitled

"Why are you crying? I think crying is a bit superfluous." 

His tone sounded more like a statement rather than a question.

"I'm crying because I'm sad." 

"What have you got to be sad about?"

"Everything."

"Nothing."

I cried harder and he left for work. 

Spring

He knew me when I didn't or maybe I changed to who he suggested I be, it was so long ago, how can I be sure. 

How can we be sure of anything anymore.

On a spring day like this I miss the way his cum felt dripping out of me onto my panties. I miss knowing who my next kiss would be from. I miss feeling the weight of his body on me. I miss the increasing dampness of his skin as he fucked me harder and harder. 

It's hard to remember what his lips felt like. I can hardly remember what his voice sounded like. 

And in many ways it feels like I was someone else entirely, maybe I was.