“What made you send that?”
“Rough night, ignore it.”
“I can’t ignore something like that.”
“You should, you’ll only get hurt.”
“Hurt? It’s too late for me to do that.”
“It takes time.”
“Is time going to stop you from drunk texting me?”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I know, but you’ve already ruined my day now.”
He laid on the edge of the sofa, sharing the cushioned space with a girl with cheeks made of moonstone. The beauty of her cheeks, matched only by the innocence in her chest; old enough to love, but not old enough to notice a broken man. A simple invitation sent by her, and now he was comfortable on her couch. And somehow they moved to the bed. And somehow the clock read 3:07 AM. And somehow the words escaped his mouth. “Can I stay with you?” “Don’t you have a girlfriend.” “Not anymore.” “Then yeah,” she whispered as his shirt glided to the floor. Their bodies remained at opposing ends, save for the moments they met in the middle. But he hadn’t anticipated the magnitude of his choice, deciding to sleeping (with) next to a stranger.
“Time knocks like a tax-collector,” is what her mother told her when she buried her father.
“All ripples start from somewhere,” is what her mother told her when she opened the envelope.
“Truth is both poison and the antidote,” is what her mother told her when she said goodbye.
“Doors close for a reason, it’s up to you to find another one that’s open,”is what her mother told her when she started moving on.
Dreams at his doorstep, all of his desires sitting on the brick stoop of his porch. He was ready to chart his course. Because of the end, he now had a beginning; and the sunset, how beautiful. Her smile, how beautiful, it’s what he loved the most. Or her tattoo, the thick lines contrasting against her silken shoulders. To be back in her arms, was that proof that it was real? All he wanted was a spot, a place to claim for his own, and he’d found it at the end.