𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄 - 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐀 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

you (v.c)

*updated :)

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

floor time becomes more than just a necessity; it's a ritual, sacred even. especially when you're faded with your girlfriend and the high is heavy on your senses, pulling you closer to the earth like gravity itself has doubled. there's something about lying on the floor, being completely sprawled out, that makes it feel so intimate and inevitable. it's like the ground is whispering secrets when you're finally still enough to hear.

i feel it beneath me now, the coolness of the hardwood softened by the patterned rug. the texture beneath my fingertips is almost hypnotic in the way my hand traces the intricate shapes and spirals and curves that feel foreign yet so familiar all at once.

i'm slightly turned on my side, not just to see what patterns my fingers happen to be tracing, but to keep her in my line of sight. she's up on my bed, her limbs heavy and loose with her legs dangling completely off the edge like she's forgotten how far her body could extend. the bed, which usually seems so inviting and so comfortable, feels like it belongs to someone else right now. there's something about the floor that feels better—to keep me more grounded as though i'm connected to something larger, something far beneath that only we can feel.

her voice cuts through the quiet, being so soft but so certain, pulling me back into the room and into the present. it's just us and the two cats, who have long since fallen asleep in the living room, oblivious to the world. the house feels empty in the best way. my dads are off on their anniversary vacation, and for once there's no one to fill the spaces, to intrude on this moment.

"why do you care about me?" she asks, her gaze locked on the ceiling like she's searching for answers in the paint and deep within the cracks.

her question lingers in the air, remaining delicate yet with heavy undertones. i wonder if she knows just how deep it cuts, and how it pulls at the very thing that keeps me tethered to her. the casualness of her question felt like a harsh slap to the face, making my head race with a billion thoughts.

getting high with vada always seems to open her up to this restless curiosity, like her mind can't help but expand and reach out in every direction. every few minutes, there's a new question, it always something abstract and something intimate. they're comments that feel like they've been buried inside her until now. in the past hour alone, she must've asked at least a hundred questions. maybe even a thousand if you count every fleeting thought that she's let slip past her lips since the first inhale of her blunt.

i'm only half-listening, my attention drifts between her voice and the familiar shapes i continue to trace on the rug beneath me. my nails glide over the fabric, following patterns that feel like they're coming alive under my scratchy touch. still, i answer her softly, without even looking up. "cuz you're perfect," i murmur, meaning every word in a way that feels so effortless, matching her normalacy in a sense.

she scoffs at that, her sound low as her lips twitch into a small half-smirk like she can't believe it—like the idea of her being perfect is something laughable and impossible. "me? perfect?" she echoes, her tone dripping with disbelief as if the notion itself is so absurd it can't be entertained. "i'm nowhere near perfect. fuck, i'm not even close to mediocre."

then she shifts, slipping off the bed and lowering herself beside me, her movements slow and deliberate.

she settles into the rug, her body relaxed but guarded like she's trying to shield herself from the weight of her own words. her back rests against the edge of the bed, her knees pulled tightly to her chest with arms wrapped loosely around them. for a moment, it's like she's folded into herself, hiding away from the reality she's considered.