A pale-haired boy stands behind a dark-haired girl. Both in their late teens, waiting for this turn to order behind the rest of the Saturday morning Starbucks bustle.
His arms loop around her middle and his chin rests on her shoulder. Tattoos track up and down his arms in a mesmerizing mosaic, and his smile is infectious. She turns her head to speak to him softly, and he laughs, hard.
Adrian. Us.
"And then what happened?" Adrian asks, turning his head so his lips, so pink, and are much closer to mine. His chin digs into my shoulder in a pleasantly uncomfortable way.
"I told him I was a lesbian and living with my girlfriend Adrianna. He got away pretty quickly after that." I continue, telling him of a really pushy subway boy I encountered yesterday.
"And why did you say that?" He's laughing in a soft way that sends reverberations through my spine.
"Because I'd seen him advocating for disallowing homosexual marriages last month in front of that church on Seventh." I tell him, leaning against his strong warm chest blissfully. He's so tall, the café so loud, it's like we're in our own private cocoon.
He orders and soon we're walking to the park. He's wearing a windbreaker that falls a little loose from his shoulders, blue and black, and ends just past his hips. There's something extremely attractive of the shape of it (or his shape underneath) as he swaggers thoughtlessly down the park trail.
He vaults up onto the marble bench sculpture gracefully, and I follow much slower. He sets the pastries and drinks on the plaid picnic blanket from his backpack.
His hair falls glinting across his forehead as he reclines insouciantly against the stone, soaking up the sunshine.
His idea was to people watch, but there are about three other people out and about across the green.
But it's glorious. I've learned that it's the moments that happen when no one else is around, when no one else can see, that count. The sweet whispers, the secret touches.
The warm heart flutters, the hushed space between kisses just after he pulls away to breath but doesn't get any further. Butterfly kisses, late night cuddled in his aerie bedroom.
Those are the moments; the perfect moments that are so much more than they would seem.
"Hey, where'd you go?" He asks, drawing me closer so I sit between his legs with his knees at my sides.
I just smile at him and turn my face for a kiss. He obliges with a pleased laugh.
[exeunt]
it's done.
not too crappy?
the people watcher learns that the good moments are when no ones watching... huh?
anyway
i'm kinda sad.
NEW STORY called Balconial ((homemade word okay idc bc balcony conversations would be LAME)) Conversations it'll be cool and yeah so read it pls. It's kinda like this but less narrative and more dialogue.
For remembrance, this was the first book i wrote that went down to #117 and i'd like to remember that.
