last.summer

I remember the feeling so vividly that sometimes I believe I’m back in your room. I was wearing your shirt and I was holding my knees, sitting on your bed. The window was open and sumer air breezed through it, but I couldn’t smell much because I was warped in your aroma. I felt small, and fragile sitting with my back to the wall. I knew that I loved you and that gave you the power to change my world whenever you saw fit. You crawled on over next to me and kissed my jawbone. The way you looked at me made me feel beautiful. I don’t have to tell you how often I’ve felt this way. You lifted up the covers and I crawled in. You pulled me, so that I was close to you, and you held me with both arms as though you were afraid I’d leave if you didn’t. I felt safe and loved as I lay in your arms. I felt like I belonged next to you. You lay motionless, breathing in and out with me until I fell into a soft sleep, where my mind buzzed with thoughts of you. You then kissed me gently on my lips, waking me into what I can only call a better dream. You pulled away and I pouted, because I wanted to taste your kiss for a little longer. Then you spoke, and your voice was almost enough to replace the kiss in itself. The slow rasp and the deep whisper that you used was like heroin to an addict; when I didn’t hear it for long enough, I swear I began to go crazy. I’ll never forget the apology you made to me that night, for it was absurd to apologize for such a thing. “Sorry,” you whispered. “I just can’t resist you.”