We spent most of the night talking, filling in the silence with too much staring and kissing, finally slumbering off to sleep as the morning sneaked up on us. I woke up to him studying me with those sharp green eyes, his steady breathing, and my not so steady heartbeat. For the first time ever I was no longer counting down the minutes till I left, I was counting stars.
It is hard to remind myself that love and lust are different things, and what we feel right now is simply chemicals reacting, nothing more. I should be content in becoming a pleasant memory, something to be filed away and looked at later, when we’re oceans apart and tired of dreaming. But I want more than just the gentle gaze of an old lover. I want to feel passion, I want to feel pain. I want to scream at the sound of his name.
I tried to remember the last time I felt like this but all my memories are blurry. I remember our first kiss. It felt like home, so soft and sweet I thought I would melt in his arms. He ran his hands down my back and traced the fragments of my spine, sending shivers all through me. I have never been touched like this before.
But all this happiness feels so temporary, like we are playing with borrowed time. The question is who is willing to play the fool this time. We are treading on dangerous territory, carrying our shattered hearts in tired suitcases and trading love for stolen kisses. We are stumbling fingers in the dark, dirty whispers in the night, guilty goodbyes when morning comes.