It was about a man; tall, pale skinned, coiffed brown hair, confined from its typical unruly state. A sleek black suit. Stubble dotted across his face; his jaw and hollow cheekbones.
He protected me. Sat by me in a black Mercedes.
I walked past the cemetry in Rochester, NYC, looking over the lonely tombstones. It was a cold night, my hands tucked inside my pockets. I breathed out clouds of steam that drifted past the glaring street lights, into the obsidian sky. I blinked, and the vapour had dissipated into the night.
Suddenly I was in his car. He was rushing me somewhere.
A restaurant. A flight of stairs; curved, going down. He grabbed my hand in his, pulling me with him.
Wrenched a white door on the right open, pushing us inside.
Lights off.
My hands pressed against his chest, which rose and fell in syncope with mine. No other sounds than our breathing, forced to be hushed. And then a sound. Outside, rapid footsteps. Someone sought but they would not find.
Onyx eyes looked down to meet my gaze. They held mine for a long period of time; in them I saw many of the emotions I held in my own. When his eyes darkened, I gently bit my lip.
He whispered my name.
His gaze wavering
between my eyes
and my
plum
lips.
He looked me in the eyes, his emotions conflicted.
His resolve shattered. Suddenly his lips pressed against mine, before stopping; moving away. Still partially paralysed in shock, my eyes only just opened to see him beginning to step back; insecure eyes seeking mine as an apology began to spill from his lips.
Before he spoke, tip toeing, I gently reciprocated. His hands fell to my waist, pulling me closer, his head tilted down towards me. And as we kissed, my hands raked through his thick, soft hair; our lips briefly parting before delicately touching again. He placed a kiss on the corner of my mouth; I felt his smile. My arms wrapped around his neck as I pressed my lips to his again.
They say a picture can speak a thousand words.
The beauty of moments like these is that words are no longer necessary.
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