March 3, 2009

a million hours left to think of you and think of that

With not much else to comment on, he laid down, bending at the middle, to rest his head in her lap. Deliberately, presumptuously. Perhaps she had been angry before and maybe he didn't realize what it meant but there wasn't anything she could do about him like this. Maybe snap his neck, but nothing so brash and dramatic like that.
She rested her hand on his neck. Just in case.

He said nothing, hearing the blood underneath her thighs. He slipped his arm under her knees to cradle them closer until the was half deaf with them. He listened intently to no pulse really. Her hand was cold on his neck and he turned to kiss it, for no particular reason but maybe she'd notice a small gesture of surrender. Maybe she would hear the thoughts he was telepathically telling her but couldn't bring himself to say aloud. It wasn't that he didn't want her to know, just that he hated hearing his own voice saying it, even in his head. As soon as he began to say it, it diminished to a sheepish mumble, to something neutral and inconsequential. It looked at its own feet.
The more he meant it, the more insincere it sounded. These thoughts, they didn't translate. They never did and he got the feeling he just didn't have a gift for telepathy at all.

My feet are starting to fall asleep, she said. Curl your toes. Ow, that feels weird!

Tell me when it gets up to here. He grasped her left knee, testing its ripeness.
Okay, she said. She curled her toes and every hair on her leg stood straight up.

She sounded half far away with one ear pressed to the ground of her body, the other ear open to the sky. She moved her hand to cup his ear. It didn't sound like the ocean, it just sounded like a cup was on the side of his head, he decided.



I want to get up, she said. What for? Can it wait just 5 minutes?
Alright.

You want to get up because you hate me?
Shut up. I don't hate you.
Really? Because it seems like you do.

I'm just pissed is all.

Clearly.


I will snap your neck, I swear to God.
Would you really?
No, probably not. It just felt good to say it.

Oh. You can threaten me physical harm if it makes you feel better.

Thanks.


I don't think you'll ever know how much I adore you.
Why's that?
She let her fingers find the nape of his neck.

Because I suck at telepathy.
What?

Nothing.



You may as well just tell me. Or I'll cut off each one of your fingers and toes until you do.


And if I still don't?
You'll have no fingers and toes and then I'll break up with you, I suppose.


Oh. I wouldn't like that at all, I don't think. Sometimes you sound very seriously when you say things like that.

Sometimes I think that if I really wanted to, you would let me cut off all your fingers and toes.

True.

That's kind of sick.

Well. I don't know. I love you. With all of my heart. The rest of me too if you want it.







Hm. Thanks.

That's not what you say.



Okay. I love you.

With all of my face.

Thank you.

1 comment:

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