Green Eyes

Exhaustion makes me want to close my eyes and drift into this momentary fluke. I take her in, every curve, every mark, every scar and every freckle.  I let the image soak into my mind, and hope that she will stay in my memories as she was tonight.  I wish silently that when I think of her after, I can feel as if she’s mine; even if all we had was tonight.  Even if, when the sun comes up, all she leaves me with is her smell permeating my skin, and that tingle in my fingertips that hasn’t left me since the second I touched her.  Confusion tinges everything, but the memories of the last few hours rush through me; my body pressing down on her, how right hers felt on top of mine.  The scent of her skin when I held her tight and kissed her neck, the heat of her breath hitting my skin.  The way she looked at me when I held her down and moved against her, with a need and a want that took my breath away. 

I slide my body closer and wrap my arms around her.  I feel her shiver against the cooler touch of my arms, and pull her in tighter, feeling the heat build and pool between our bodies.  I hold her, thinking of her green eyes, dreaming of her kiss.  Of the feel of her lips, her nibbles, the way she tasted; the imprint of her mouth burnt inside of me, and the echo of how bad I wanted it without knowing it ringing in my head.  My instincts tell me to move, but the closeness and contact of her skin numbs me like a poison.  I slide my fingers across her arm, and lace them with hers; feeling a familiarity that shouldn’t be there.  My muscles relax as if they had always belonged next to her; as if I myself was hers. I can feel the minutes slip by, and the understanding that our time is almost over fills me with anxiety and relief; feeling and knowing clashing inside of me bending my perception of what is right.  “I can’t” I tell myself, feeling hazy from liquor, and from a comfort I have no right to feel; but still I lay my head against her back, and want more than anything to keep the night from ending.

I wake up home the next day.  I search through my phone and find the messages we wrote after I left her house, I read them over and over as the only sign it all really happened.  After a cold shower I spend the next few hours drifting between shock, excitement, and the belief that I have just done one the most irresponsible things of my life.  I can’t help but smile. 

We laugh about it over text messages, dissipating the anxiety over what could become an inside joke between two friends.  On the inside we hold the fear of what might happen if it’s more.   I stare at the clock knowing I’m supposed to meet her, and have to hold myself back to make sure I don’t make it there in time; it would be the first time I ever am and a sign that something is different.  Nothing is.  It’s all the same. Just two friends sharing dinner.  I keep telling myself that as I climb into the car with sweaty hands. 

“Knock knock.”  I text her as I walk towards her door.  The fact that I’m spending more time texting the words instead of actually knocking on the door seems idiotic, but it’s just one of those things; one of those friend things.  He opens the door and I instantly turn on the confidence.  I am the smiling, cocky, know-it-all that he knows; he can’t see the shakes, the trembling knees, the heart rate spiking at the knowledge that she is just beyond the door.

“S up.” I say, and he nods back.  Does he know? Nah, he can’t. But maybe.  I don’t think so, but maybe. All those doubts pour through my head. I know that he probably doesn’t know, but suspects. Oh yes, that he does.  Do you hate me for it? Yea, that too, he has to.  I smirk at the thought, then I feel awful about it, but I still smirk anyway.  Guilt? Yes, some.  Misplaced as it is because she isn’t his in any way or form.  The only thing that belongs to him is an unrequited desire that will remain unrequited. But I’m okay, cool, calm and collected; and full of lies like that to make me feel better.

I see her in the kitchen and walk towards her.  “Wait you cooked? Hmmm… I’m not sure I want to eat anymore.” I say, and bump her in the shoulder as I walk by. Just like always. Just like friends. 

            “Whatever punk!” She answers back. Just like always.  Just like friends.  But then she looks at me. She scrunches her eyes in that fake mad look and I smirk.  No, I grin. I grin and I can feel the excitement inside me. I look at her, she looks back.  Knees shake, clammy hands, head feels light, butterflies in the stomach, insert cliché. Damn damn damn. And just like that I know, no that’s not right, I knew; so just like that I admit. Yes I love you. Yet all you get is a pat in the shoulder, and all I get is a smartass remark. And then I sit in the couch, and look at you again; and dream because it’s all I can do. And wonder because I can’t help but to.  And I think with the outmost clarity and certainty: This is just gonna suck!

Author's Note

If you read the first chapter of the book I have up, you'll realize it looks a lot like this. These are some thoughts from something that happened a while back, and I liked it so much I reused it to start the book. I know it's lazy it seemed like a good idea at the time (still does).

In the interest of honesty, I'll admit I cleaned this up a bit from when I originally wrote it. The sentiment is the same, the thoughts are just clarified.

Reviews

[WriterMe]

This was pretty good. I loved the details, the choice of words, and that tingling sensation I get whenever I read your work. I loved the basis of reality =] Excellent job.

[Therene]

This one placed me inside that bedroom where they were. It's very alluring like somehow I could feel them.

Although at some point, I found the drunk part irritating but I realized it was there for a reason.

Job well done. Great write! :D

[melissa]

wow, that was awesome I must say :)