youcanonlywrite
His words were curvy, and spilled over the edges of the paper. I loved his words, I could feel their taste in my mouth; it was bitter, but in a good way. They gave me the firm belief that everything would be alright in the end, they spelled out hopeful.
I had always felt alone...always a little lost and a little deserted. I remember being scared, when I was little, that the sun would never come up and that I would never touch the sky. I use to have a reoccurring dream about being lost in the desert, a heavy myriad surrounding me.
He played silently with the salt and pepper shakers. Dancing them across the table in some kind of off-beat waltz. He refused to look up, to meet my gaze. I wish I could read his mind, I wish I knew why he said the things he did earlier; if he meant them or not, I felt like I would never know.
I felt the smooth silk against the back of my legs as he pushed my dress further and further up. I felt his quick sighs and heavy breathing like it was my own heart beat; he was my own heart beat. His cool hands felt like perfection on the back of my neck, and his smell overwhelmed me.
I sat on the toilet wrapped in a towel waiting for the hot water to fill the bath tub. I loved the steam rising off of the surface and the loud noise of the water plunging from the facet into the water. I leaned over and stuck my hand in, swirling it around, tracing circles with my finger. As I pushed my hand further down to touch the slippery bottom and my ring slipped off. I watched it, as if in slow motion, sinking slowly to the bottom.
I hope you know that you are missed; that I still feel your arms around me, feel your voice whispering sweet thoughts in my ear. I can feel my heart beat slow, remembering it, bringing me back.
I hated that word; fail. It was the worst word I ever new. It tore me to pieces; tore at my thoughts, my actions, my beliefs. I didn't understand how anyone could tell me that I failed when I did the best I possibly could, I tried and tried and tried. How was that not success? I did succeed.
I switched on the lamp and brought my work closer to my eye. I looked closely at the velveteen bunny that my mother had made me when I was a baby; looked closely at the tearing thread and the stained cloth. I remembered the 18 years it spent on my bed; moving from New Mexico to Texas when I was eight, through elementary school, junior high, high school, through relationships and tears.
I walked by him to get to my spot on the field, and it was the first time in two months that we had been that close. As the breeze picked up his smell was wafted towards me, and it took my breath away. I could hardly breathe, hardly think; who knew after all that time of not seeing him, that being that near to him could still take my breath away.
I couldn't stop; couldn't turn around or look back. I had to keep my eyes on the road, my eyes on the future. No rests or breaks; no time for any of that. All I could do was keep driving. All I could do was keep imagining that he was at the end of my next turn, and if I got there, he would finally be in view.
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