time to go


she said as he stood up from the bed.

“stay here awhile. can you do that at least?”

he walked over to the window and opened the curtains, painting the walls with an orange glow. she watched his shadow light up a cigarette. it towered over her and partially covered the metal butterflies adorning her room.

“here.” passing her a lit up cigarette. she took it and let the smoke waft upwards. dancing coyly in solid lines and dissipating when it reached a certain height.

they’ve been at it awhile. who knows what he was thinking at that time. they were… as this little story was written-no form. no capitals. a dash and an ellipses here and there. if they were compared to grammar they’d be an ellipses, she thought. a lingering broken sentence. no oxford commas here. a semi-colon could work.

there she was, thinking about parallelisms in punctuations after really good sex. the empty kind where you use one another and just enjoy things as it is. the kind that leaves you empty afterwards, but kind of fills a gap or a void that you couldn’t get away from.

she could only look at him and his shadow as he watched the sun set over the river. it is all too perfect, right? she didn’t want someone she could see herself staying with. one can just drop things and leave things to memory. fucking around with just one person for too long though, and one can’t help but be attached. if one cannot quietly follow the rules of a proper society, how then can one follow the rules of this kind of relationship. not falling in love is bullshit.

this connection, you two share: though words aren’t bountiful enough to remember in your older years. the kind you ponder about while you sip your coffee as the rain knocks on your windows. the conversations both of your bodies exchange have all sorts of feelings mixed within it. you feel like your are making love to their former lovers, thanking them for delevoping technique and cursing them for any bad habits they may have picked up. the anxieties, the pent up frustrations and that simple joy of being accepted. of being wanted. of being loved.

“we are an incomplete sentence.” she says. right after that long drag and smoky release. “a gerund. a phrase. the type your teacher encircles in red, because it is a mistake.” she adds.

“and as the sun sets, I guess it is time to go.” he says. smiling at her. that dark orange glow didn’t really do anything to accentuate his face. she sees his wrinkles though, and bad teeth with his unkept, careless hair.

“so soon? why not stay awhile?”

“I guess this is our sunset, too. the light is fading.” he says, like he preferred the chaos out there against the peace of her condo. her company.

he wasn’t necessarily a keeper. but she will keep in touch anyways.  even if he wasn’t the type stay.