*A weekly post revisiting some of my previous fictional writing pieces from my old blog*
When I reach for you, you flinch. When I kiss you, you don’t kiss me back. You look at me with repulsion when I try and hold your hand. So, I walk around all day, waiting – waiting for you to touch me, to pull me in to you. And when you do you are ferocious, your arms too tight around my waist, your nose tangled in my hair, your lips too hot and wet against mine.
Intimacy is always on your terms.
But, at night when we lie in bed – your back curled away from me – and I hear your snores, you are mine. I shuffle to your side of the bed, and I put my arm around your bare shoulders, pulling myself up against your sleeping body. I bury my face into your hot, smooth neck. You do not move.
I love your smell.
Imperial Soap and cigarettes.
*Originally published 7 June 2011