#memories3

His fingers play me deftly, as though they’ve known me forever, even though it’s our first time together. This has been a long time coming, and I drink his body like he’s water and I’m dying from thirst.

He kisses down my thighs, sucking, nipping, licking. His mouth finds my center and I arch into him, whimpering. We’ll never say the words. But he understands, and so do I. We don’t need them. I don’t need to hear them.

If his touch is able to redeem everything that is wrong in my life, if I can feel his breath in my ear, if I breathe him in, then everything is alright. If there is no light, but I can see him, if there are no words, but I can hear him, if there is no reason but he is with me, then everything is alright.

I’m so close to the edge, but I want him on me, in me. I tug on his tousled hair, urging him to kiss my lips instead. He complies, his hands gripping my hips, and I do the same. Without further hesitation, he pushes into me. I stifle a cry against his shoulder. He is my first and I want him to be my last.

He stills inside me, trembling, murmuring sweet apologies for the stinging pain. I shake my head, and press against his lower back. He understands and moves again, slowly, slowly. I come in a small burst of feeling that starts at the base of my spine and rushes to the tips of my toes; as he comes, his mouth finds mine. Words tumble like blessings, over and over. He finally rests his head against the crook of my neck, one arm splayed across my stomach. His other hand traces over my chest.

“This is what ye do to me,” he says, listening to the frantic beating of our hearts. We go to sleep on the tangled grey sheets. There is a sweet nostalgia in the air.

I close my eyes, and fall in love with him again.

I opened my eyes, and realized I had left the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs. The sound of water ran from the bathroom. I avoided the door and climbed to the attic. This was a bad idea, I knew, but I couldn’t help myself. Like a wound you knew could heal if you would just stop picking at it until it bled.

The box was still there, tucked into the deep recesses of the dusty crawlspace. The air was stifling, but it didn’t matter—I could barely breathe anyway. I picked my way over the clutter, and dropped to my knees as if in prayer. Prayed for protection from the demons in the box.

It was there, nestled at the very top for me to find. I pulled at the crinkled piece of paper, and his handwriting hit me like a punch. I remembered finding it inside my coat pocket one night as I left his place.

Paint me a grey sky let it rain in my heart I can be the ground you walk on eternal sun and spring Give me days of sunshine let it burn on my skin I can warm like the heat speak like summer Sing to me like the wind let it pass me by I can soar like birds take you with me like the leaves of autumn Protect me from the cold let me rest in your arms I can be your ending and forget you like winter

Those were the words I shouldn’t have wanted, the words I shouldn’t dwell on. Unbidden memories rose, fleeing the confines of the cardboard. It was filled with him, and I didn’t remember keeping the box, but I didn’t have anyone to blame.

But it was his fault I learned how to kiss. It was his fault I daydreamed, but sometimes woke up screaming. It was his fault my world turned upside down. It was his fault I sneaked out at three in the morning, just to make another memory. It was his fault I imagined his scent saturating my skin. It was his fault the sky closed over my head when I tried not to think of him. His fault, his fault, his fault.