She woke up, her clothes drenched in sweat. She caressed her humid hair, it was all still there. She then rolled her hand on the side of her bed, on which she found none.
It was dark.
It was wet.
The bed, 30 degrees Celsius outside. My sweaty inner thights, as his hands slided on them.
I was light.
3 vodka tonics and a couple of colourful cocktails named exotically had been my lunch and dinner.
He was close, laying next to me. He was far, his eyes shut down.
I wish he had not noticed mine on him when suddenly awakening, proposing:
“Shall we walk down the beach?”
And that sounded like a necessity, I would have never replied something else but:
Proposing, proposal. Is that a wedding gazebo on the shore, surrounded by the rebellious ocean crushing on the rocks, the order of nature in the perfectly parallel waves folding under the moonlight reflection.
Could there be any more appropriate scenario than this?
But the wind was strong, enough to impede our thoughts from being expressed by vocals,
Who said they can hold promises?
And it was so dark, my thoughts sucked deep down, I almost got blinded by the moon when he exclaimed:
“Look how bright it is!”
And I was confused, because I knew it was the sun to be bright and not the moon itself; because I believed I could not hear his voice among the wind, and I was afraid I had missed something else now.
So I paid a lot of attention when he declared again:
“Look how close it looks, you can totally see it is a rock!”
And I saw then the moon’s surface and I saw myself walking on it,
With my thoughts only,
As they seemed to be anywhere else
I chase you memory every night, my love
this bottle helping me recalling
the way your lips curve nearby my skin,
the way your voice tickle my lobes,
the way your chest inflate under my hand.
And when the moon chases me,
– under the spotlight
I raise up my sight,
and her, from that distance
she can reflect it too
the love I would, every night
give to you.
She felt like an hitch on the top of her forehead – she took away her eyes from what she was doing to find out he had her eyes on her despite the two people separating them – she felt embarrassed as the little construction she was making with coasters signaled her evident boredom to the night.
Lying on the hollow of your neck
leading the way to the scar
running through your back, it ends
at my fingertip coming
at the night, brittle night
broken with the promises
you don’t dare to make
you forgot you told.