Four o'clock in the afternoon, she awaits on his bed. The girl sits with legs crossed, as she slowly begins to undo the delicate lacing of her leather sandals. The dampness of rain lightly covers her clothes, face and hair. She is adorned in worn-out blue-jeans and a light, purple fleece - both faded. Underneath, a white, loose-fitting, long-sleeved shirt with lace trim...vaguely mexican, or spanish perhaps. A gift many years ago.
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She pulls back the curtain gently, peering downward onto street, the open pathways...her eyes watch for him. A few moments pass, anxiously. A spec emerges, dark, approaching off in the distance. Her heat jumps a little, as a smile grows on her face. She ducks down with nervous discretion, glimpsing from the corner of his window.
Her eyes settle on his approaching image. Thin, dark blue jeans, black leather shoes, and an open, high-cut black leather jacket. A dark dress shirt. The downpour outside intensifies, and the frequency of his pace diminishes and breaks into a casual stroll. Long, dark hair and a lingering frame trace the pathways easily. She catches a hint of heavy, uncertain eyes...weight for the future. A three-day stubble, worn more foundly in her memory now than so long ago. The famaliar seam of his sentiments, like a brush against her face. Now a dark and haunting loniliness.
She begins to get ready, quickly unstripping her clothes. The girl places her garments away neatly, then bashfully ducks under the sheets. Her eyes close, she pretends to be sleeping. Minutes pass. It becomes harder to wait. Nervous, excited...hopelessly anxious. Her ears catch the distant clicking sound of the front door, and the faint squeaking of his shoes.
Footsteps approach. Ear to the pillow, she faces opposite the door and falls back into position. The footsteps pause, followed by the low murmur of chitchat. She curses under her breath. Composure. Must keep composure. End chitchat, resume footsteps. She quickly regains herself and, once again, pretends to be sleeping. The door knob turns, enter. Lips sealed, eyes shut, breathing measured and paced.
She catches a whisper, and the familiar rustle of his coat. Seconds of unholy meditation pass, patients becomes tribulation - a burden unmeasured in the world of sin. A weight pulls her as he leans on the bed. She can feel her body being drawn toward him. Gently he leans over to peer at her face, and she can feel it. He pauses there, for a moment, as she wonders in darkness what he might be doing...as his eyes set on her face, guessing at what dreams her slumber hides.
He bends lower, she can feel a faint whisper and the tickle of her hair as he brushes up against the side of her face. He holds her in stillness with the tips of his fingers. He knows, he must, mustn't he? She stirs a little, but he holds her there, finger tips firmly, her eyes remain closed in the silence of her breathing. A smile creeps along her lips, teeth that have to be kissed.
An embrace, too painful now to recollect. Kiss with eyes closed, smile with eyes open. Laughter and softness, no longer memories but foolish sentiments. Bliss in an eight by ten room, with no end of foul weather outside or cares for the future. No thought to lonely nights, thousands of miles and hours from now, gently rapping on a keyboard.