aeryn

Its humid. Dark clouds have marched across the sky this evening only to leave and back up against the mountains, becoming towering distant thunderheads. I know they shed their lightening and thunder on some empty peak, while here the humidity and tension holds me. I try to pretend it is a lovers embrace, the air pressing around me, while the feeling that any minute the sky will erupt with light and sound passes electrically through my body. I cant help remembering making love in the middle of a thunderstorm, when every movement of our bodies was illuminated by a flash of light and an immediate clap of thunder that drowned out the sound of the headboard hitting the wall. The storm was above us, and when he had gotten his fill and rolled over to sleep, I got up and went outside to stand in the downpour until I was drenched and could go back to bed sated.

Now I drink, staring at the young bartender. Now I buy chocolate bars. Now I count back the days until I was held last. Now I repeat to myself that I have gone much longer with a man living in my house without being touched. But even then if I had played my cards right, hit the moment just right, read his mood just right and done just the right thing, I might get relief. Now I open the doors to the sky and sun shining in my back door and watch the sky for hope in the procession of clouds moving to the east. And I think about how many more lonely nights the future holds, and how these will compare to all the lonely nights I spent with him.