A little bittersweet. But still some sweet:
I smile at her, and she lights up. Her eyes flash at me, sparkling. She nuzzles her head into my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.
Our feet dance, playfully, under the covers. Our skin rubbing lightly. She sighs, squeezing me. Her hair is light and smells like flowers. The TV is on, but it’s just noise. We are lost in the moment.
We’re camped out in this bed. A refuge from reality. In this bed we fight, we fuck, we cry, we laugh. In this bed, we love. It’s an old-fashioned concept, but it fits us. The future is golden.
Her touch was cold. Lifeless. Just like her feelings toward me.
We had been together since before we really knew what “together” meant. When you are young, you pair up and play house and talk about “forever,” but deep down you know it’s not real. Forever is a year or a month or a day. You have no concept of how your life can march along at an even pace for years and years, while the love you built on such a flimsy foundation barely keeps up.