Laugh Lines and Pretense
I wanted him to come after me.
To feel the press of my body against the cool of my car; his finger tips tracing my face, so he doesn’t forget. Doesn’t forget what he loved about me… or how I looked when I pleaded for it.
I wanted a silent car ride, with laced hands and unspoken promises. To feel as if I were in some sort of dream.
I wanted to feel worshiped and the gentle guide of clothing to the floor. Pushes and pulls. And promise neither one of us could be able to fill. Dancing finger tips over damp skin.
Not falling asleep alone.
I wanted to wake up tangled in limbs and kisses, to find his eyes watching my face. To stretch with feline grace against his form. I wanted morning kisses and silent goodbyes replaced with desperate ‘I love you’s.
To search for clothes and meet glances full of guilt and sorrow.
To kiss goodbye with out a promise.
I wanted to be driven home and feel the numbness of loss and the hum of regret; that we wasted so much time. To think about his hands and the sharpness of his hips as I wash away all the evidence that we ever loved. Because kisses weren’t enough, but my bruised lips beg for more.
To slip into my car and never wonder.
But he never came
And I went.
And when Shiloh came toward me, with eager eyes and pressing pads, I couldn’t deny the way he looked at me. With eyes so similar that I ached for closure. I wondered aloud if it was possible to suffocate one desire with a second; so similar but a lie.
His lips weren’t as soft… and his eyes weren’t as bright.
But I replaced his hands with my imagination… and I replaced his questions with a different concern.
And I pretended… and I lost.
Because kisses between Shiloh and I, were hollow; they screamed for something more. Which is why we didn’t curl into a corner for a quiet affair,
But slipped of to our respective places.
And I gasped and wished.
He smiled and waved.
And I wished I was back in KC, where I knew what it felt like to be grounded. Where I knew where in the hell I was… and I wasn’t kissing nuptials.
Because Shiloh didn’t ask for permission, his tongue didn’t skim my lips in silence that made my heart ache with its tenderness. Shiloh’s kiss didn’t leave me scrambling for purchase, my mind clouded with pleasant arousal. Shiloh’s kiss didn’t plead for more but retreat in guilt. He plundered and I flinched.
Because he didn’t kiss me like I wanted to be kissed, he kissed me because he wanted to kiss me.
I felt used… and beautiful and dirty and angry.
Because kisses among freckles aren’t the same,
Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.
Stolen kisses are still stolen.
I want them to be given to me. Like a present, wrapped in the most delicious paper, with flaws and laughs and happiness. I’ve got patterns in that paper, I connect the dots with giggles and love… I bet she doesn’t do that.
Maybe that’s what tricked me.
Shiloh had laugh lines exactly where I would imagine…
It’s not piercing hurt; it lingers and resurfaces when I think it has dissipated.
I hate it and I love it.
It’s all I have left of my pathetic romance that never started.
Maybe I’m not fairy tale enough?
… I’ll start wearing more pink.
