“You smell like cigarettes, and sex, and passion.”
– “That’s my new odour. It’s awesome, isn’t it?”
You kiss me twice, while jumpin’ out of bed, with the cigarette in the one hand, and the wine glass in the other one. The small music station at the end of the room tries to keep us alive. Slowly you get down again, leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor. One breath full of nicotine, two mouthful of this cheap red wine.
“We shouldn’t have done this.”
– “Why? Tell me. Why shouldn’t we?”
“It’s … it’s …”
– “Is it because of?”
“Yeah.”
Your eyes look sad, like someone, who has lost his virginity to some odd stranger. Well, our “losing-my-virginity”-age is long ago, but in my imagination, you definitely would look like this now. It wasn’t wrong, it was maybe the best thing we could have done at that moment. You know? Fuck to all those promises and all that dumb shit, everyone is talking about.
Without a boxershort or anything else on my body, I crawl down to you. There isn’t anything wrong with it and darling. It’s okay, now. You shouldn’t be forced to feel that way. You should feel lucky, positively surprised. Or something like that.
You really look beautiful, you know? With the wine, and the sweat, your breasts and your eyes. Have I ever told you that? I lay my head down on your shoulder. “It’s true. It feels right.”, she said and began to cry. We lay down here, on the floor, looking on the ceiling. Smoking cigarettes again and again, closing eyes, holding hands. Touching our bodies, kissing our lips. Why can’t we stay in that bubble of imaginary love? Without feelings, although it feels so. Without dreams of a shared future. Without talks about eternity.
“I love you.”
And although these three words feel so strong, I know what you mean. It’s okay, right now, for this moment. We love each other, it’s good. But we couldn’t care less about tomorrow. I kiss your head, lay my hand down your chest. The ipod turns to A. Adams, Ryan.