I wish you were here
Aug. 16th, 2004 11:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mousmeI wish you were here. I would meet you, perhaps in a coffee shop somewhere downtown, and we'd smile, you confidently in that inimitable way you have, me shyly, ducking my head down as you reached out and took my arm. You'd pull me close, and your lips would brush briefly against mine, still cold from the outside. I would laugh softly, and push the hair away from my eyes. It would fall in my face all the time —I would have been trying to grow it out— and you'd always accuse me laughingly of trying to hide behind this thick auburn curtain, and perhaps you'd be right. Your gaze would burn through me. I'd look up at you, and for a moment our eyes would lock, and my world would stand still. Then we'd sit down, and order coffee.
I wish you were here. We would take a walk on the mountain, through the frosted avenues under the creaking trees, while there wass no one about in the twilight except a few lonely people wending their way home, a few other couples, like us, lost in their own happiness. I would be able to see one or two solitary stars appearing in the pale evening sky, the only ones that would be visible in the city on a night like this, and it would make them even more special. You wouldn't know what stars they were, nor would you care. You'd leave that romantic stuff to me, you'd say, but you'd be happy because I was happy, and you'd let me laugh and take delight in the twilight and quote random bits of poetry at you. You'd smile fondly at me, because it really wasn't very much, was it, to give me this one evening to be happy.
I wish you were here. I would invite you to my place, and apologize for it being such a mess. You'd tease me because I can never seem to keep it tidy. There's always cat hair everywhere, and the dishes are always half done. My cats would greet us at the door, purring and rubbing around your ankles as I pulled off your coat and hung it by the door. At least the bed was made and the bathroom scrubbed, I'd think to myself, but I'd know you didn't care. You'd smile at me, and my apartment would be illuminated by your presence. I'd offer you tea, and then think better of it and suggest mulled wine instead, and then, hardly recognizing my own daring, I'd stand on tiptoe by your shoulder and stick my tongue in your ear, tracing the delicate shell-like outline, the taste of salt sharp in my mouth, enjoying the sound of your surprised gasp.
I wish you were here. You'd take me out dancing, and make me drink more than I'm accustomed to, and take me to seedy karaoke clubs and force me to sing in public even though I have stage fright and can't sing in front of people. I would cook omelets for you with all the different varieties of pepper I could find at the market, and crepes on the weekend, and French toast, and take joy in finding new recipes for you so that you'd never get bored. We'd cook together and apart and surprise each other and one day we'd both go grocery shopping and buy the same thing by accident.
I wish you were here. I'd take you home and peel away your layers until you were raw and quivering. I would draw your outline with my fingers and fill them in with my tongue. I would serenade you to sleep at night, and sing you to life in the morning.
I just wish you were here.
I wish you were here. We would take a walk on the mountain, through the frosted avenues under the creaking trees, while there wass no one about in the twilight except a few lonely people wending their way home, a few other couples, like us, lost in their own happiness. I would be able to see one or two solitary stars appearing in the pale evening sky, the only ones that would be visible in the city on a night like this, and it would make them even more special. You wouldn't know what stars they were, nor would you care. You'd leave that romantic stuff to me, you'd say, but you'd be happy because I was happy, and you'd let me laugh and take delight in the twilight and quote random bits of poetry at you. You'd smile fondly at me, because it really wasn't very much, was it, to give me this one evening to be happy.
I wish you were here. I would invite you to my place, and apologize for it being such a mess. You'd tease me because I can never seem to keep it tidy. There's always cat hair everywhere, and the dishes are always half done. My cats would greet us at the door, purring and rubbing around your ankles as I pulled off your coat and hung it by the door. At least the bed was made and the bathroom scrubbed, I'd think to myself, but I'd know you didn't care. You'd smile at me, and my apartment would be illuminated by your presence. I'd offer you tea, and then think better of it and suggest mulled wine instead, and then, hardly recognizing my own daring, I'd stand on tiptoe by your shoulder and stick my tongue in your ear, tracing the delicate shell-like outline, the taste of salt sharp in my mouth, enjoying the sound of your surprised gasp.
I wish you were here. You'd take me out dancing, and make me drink more than I'm accustomed to, and take me to seedy karaoke clubs and force me to sing in public even though I have stage fright and can't sing in front of people. I would cook omelets for you with all the different varieties of pepper I could find at the market, and crepes on the weekend, and French toast, and take joy in finding new recipes for you so that you'd never get bored. We'd cook together and apart and surprise each other and one day we'd both go grocery shopping and buy the same thing by accident.
I wish you were here. I'd take you home and peel away your layers until you were raw and quivering. I would draw your outline with my fingers and fill them in with my tongue. I would serenade you to sleep at night, and sing you to life in the morning.
I just wish you were here.
