To L who made a whore out of her over the weekend!

There were those sparks, orange and luminescent, that could’ve set the room on fire on that wintry night atop a hill were even bushfires weren’t common!

The smell of funk hung heavily in the air, dissipating her fruitiness and his muskiness. His fingers traced every contour of her body that was intertwining into his at a relishing pace.

She thought to herself how she was secure of being the perfect forgery of a loving woman since the time she had torn her heart out and broken it into a million pieces and flung it into a bottomless chasm long ago.

He stifled her groans as he explored the crevasses of her cunt and made her writhe irrepressibly. She impeded and swallowed all the sweet nothings that she wanted to fling at him. They weren’t in the confines of a secure womb after all. He on the other hand incorrigibly made his way into her ears leaving her swooning.

The next morning, he slid in next to her again as she lay coiled in a mystifying question mark. The sheets fashioned in a labyrinth of simplicity that complicated their state of mind…

She got home late that evening, still weak in the knees and with no control over her limbs. She sat humming to herself as she cut out photographs to hang up on her red and purple walls. They came from her tiny box that lay hidden from the world…pictures of places she wanted to visit, trips she had taken-alone and unfettered, handwritten scraps of paper that bondaged her thoughts on them eternally. She turned to her wooden box so often…each time she had something to add to it…this time it was the memory of a weekend that might quiver off, that might be the background hum of drunken conversations she’d have with her girlfriends weeks later…

L will always remain L in those conversations; he would stay a nameless entity, a draft of wind that wafted past her and put a smile on her face.

Transition-ation

They sat by the bar overlooking the harbor, watching the yachts dot the horizon in tiny flickers of hope for a future they both knew they didn’t trust.

They ate in silence as her time to leave had come already. She wore a white cashmere trench coat that she borrowed from one of the girls at work. Her hair swept in a demure bun, the stars twinkled in hope and the moon looked a tad bit somber that night.

He took her to a stand up comedy show down the road which was close to the pub with a fireplace. Her laughter was a cackle, like wood in flames, he often pointed was One of his favorite things about her. She cackled so much there were tears in her eyes by the end of it.

 They held hands and threw their arms around each other as they sauntered along the cobblestone pavements. She thought how it could never be better than this.

He held her face and kissed her by the fireplace, their souls melting into one another. He topped her Baileys with milk and joked about how she was too young to drink.

Today that seems like a faraway memory after he broke her heart over trivial things.

She knew it was not the happy ending for her. She knew all along. Denial is a beautiful thing she’s say with a bitter laugh and a half smoked cigarette dangling precariously from her mouth.Her hair dishevelled and her clothes a tad bit drab as the evening sky brought her the company of her best girl friends and a bottle of Wine.

 But she knows it will get better than that someday. she knew that was not the ending, nor a milestone.It was something that passed by her,like a whiff of wind that wafts past you as the winter lies to you and promises to stay on forever.But the summers set in eventually,sweltering and wearing down the toxins in your heart in magnanimous sized beads.

there will be another...there will be another...