march 1st, 2008

I wrote this a year and nine days ago...

He smelled like cigarettes. Not strongly, but faintly, almost like an air of cologne rather than a haze of smoke. I like him this way. Green button down shirts with the sleeves rolled halfway up, contacts instead of glasses, and strong, sure arms. The sky seemed like midnight at only half past eight, so we sat on rusty trailers and told bad jokes. His hands found my shoulders, or my sides, or whereever they liked, and rested or rubbed accordingly. None of this was sensual so much as all of it was sacred. The entire evening a "moment" as he called it, breathing in lungfuls of air and laying on his back.

"You even have a pretty heartbeat" he says, I ruffle his hair and rub my face in it. He wraps me up in both arms and lays his face on mine, gently, thoughtfully, and I feel the few rough patches on his cheek. I giggle, and he smiles. We're both quiet for a few breaths, and then he softly kisses my cheek.

"sometimes you just know 'this is a moment' and so you have to stop, and remember all the details, so that when you think of it again it's there, clearly."