Dec 2013
I down the shot of whiskey. It burns its way down my throat. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath of fresh air as it sails in from outside. I open my eyes and flick my lighter. Watch as it sparks alive and latches itself onto the end of my clove cigarette, melting it.
I inhale and my lungs fill. I release, contracting my lungs. Smoke floats out and diffuses into the atmosphere. I breathe in the smell of the sweet addiction.
Once I'm finished, I lay back down beside her. She has the face of an angel. So sweet, so innocent. I stare at the peacefulness on her face and try to figure out why she chose me. Why she loves me. There's nothing special about me. I reach over and run my fingers through her soft, straight, blonde hair that's sprawled out on the pillow behind her. Her hands are tucked beneath her cheek.
I remember back to when I asked her to come with me. I didn't really want to go, but I know she did and I would do anything for her. We danced around the living room of our tiny house to the static of the AM radio. She refused to dance to some hip-pop song that they repeated on the radio. Her face brightened as she laughed. I kissed her cheeks then random places on her face. She laughed and squirmed but never stopped swaying with me.
"Let's do it. Let's travel. Europe, Mexico, Asia, Canada. Wherever you want to go." Her smiles softened as she looked into my eyes. She searched to see a bluff. Yet, there wasn't one. She wanted to get away. I would give her a getaway. I would give her anything.
We ended up in Rome first. We wrapped the moon around us as we slept under the stars.
London was next. We rode the London Eye many times around. She laughed the whole way.
Mexico was third. Just hours ago, we walked into a dated diner. She chose the corner booth in the back. Secluded and comfy. Even with all the space the booth provided, we sat hip to hip. Talking and giggling. We spent the evening in that booth, talking about anything and everything, meaningful or not. It felt not long after we arrived, a Hispanic woman walked over to us, letting us it was time to close. We said our apologies and left. Deciding to rent a hotel room, we chose a ancient one. One with columns and historical means-in her eyes.
The French doors let air blow in, the curtains connected to the doors ruffled. I slid my fingers from her hair and ran my callused thumb down the side of her face. I was so lucky to have her. I hadn't a clue to what I'd do without her.
"I love you," I whispered. The air ****** my words into infinity and beyond. I pressed my lips to her forehead, careful not to wake her.
Just like whiskey and clove cigarettes, she was my sweet addiction.
I inhale and my lungs fill. I release, contracting my lungs. Smoke floats out and diffuses into the atmosphere. I breathe in the smell of the sweet addiction.
Once I'm finished, I lay back down beside her. She has the face of an angel. So sweet, so innocent. I stare at the peacefulness on her face and try to figure out why she chose me. Why she loves me. There's nothing special about me. I reach over and run my fingers through her soft, straight, blonde hair that's sprawled out on the pillow behind her. Her hands are tucked beneath her cheek.
I remember back to when I asked her to come with me. I didn't really want to go, but I know she did and I would do anything for her. We danced around the living room of our tiny house to the static of the AM radio. She refused to dance to some hip-pop song that they repeated on the radio. Her face brightened as she laughed. I kissed her cheeks then random places on her face. She laughed and squirmed but never stopped swaying with me.
"Let's do it. Let's travel. Europe, Mexico, Asia, Canada. Wherever you want to go." Her smiles softened as she looked into my eyes. She searched to see a bluff. Yet, there wasn't one. She wanted to get away. I would give her a getaway. I would give her anything.
We ended up in Rome first. We wrapped the moon around us as we slept under the stars.
London was next. We rode the London Eye many times around. She laughed the whole way.
Mexico was third. Just hours ago, we walked into a dated diner. She chose the corner booth in the back. Secluded and comfy. Even with all the space the booth provided, we sat hip to hip. Talking and giggling. We spent the evening in that booth, talking about anything and everything, meaningful or not. It felt not long after we arrived, a Hispanic woman walked over to us, letting us it was time to close. We said our apologies and left. Deciding to rent a hotel room, we chose a ancient one. One with columns and historical means-in her eyes.
The French doors let air blow in, the curtains connected to the doors ruffled. I slid my fingers from her hair and ran my callused thumb down the side of her face. I was so lucky to have her. I hadn't a clue to what I'd do without her.
"I love you," I whispered. The air ****** my words into infinity and beyond. I pressed my lips to her forehead, careful not to wake her.
Just like whiskey and clove cigarettes, she was my sweet addiction.
