All cried out

I can smell you, I reckon it’s... eight in the morning because of how the light reflects on the ceiling. I know you are not next to me because I can’t feel the pressure on the bed. You’ve left the usual scent of coconut, and something else, maybe it’s just how I perceive you, maybe it’s my sex on you, or yours on me.

I could write and rewrite this story thousands of times and I will always find new details to it, new perspectives, new ways of describing how much I still love you, and the way you pulled your hair up with millions of bobby pins that would never fall out. You probably have long hair now… but I’m not gonna check.

I can smell the coffee too, are you making it for me or for R.? Or both? Maybe he is not around. I hope he is not around because I wouldn’t know what to say and how to say it. I will meet him in the corridor later on and he will smile at me and look away, a bit of a paternal smile, the one I hate and still regret hating because it keeps confusing me when it comes to dating older men. “He knows” I will think, and that evening he will leave some chocolate and wine for us to enjoy. It should be a sweet gesture of acceptance, or forgiveness, understanding even; I know it is but I can’t stop feeling like it’s his way to get a little bit in between us. We don’t drink the wine, nor we unwrap the chocolate.

Instead... we fuck. The lights are dim and your body is the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen and felt and tasted. The way you move, the way you breathe, how your hands make my body stretch and tense up with the slightest touch. How quick I cum! Your tongue is precise, swift, the pressure is so perfect, and your fingers inside just do me right. I’ve never felt more natural, it’s never been so easy. When did it all become so complicated?

“The secret ingredient to sex, is love”. It’s you.