Box of Intimacy

October 29, 2006

You are there, and he is there.

You drove an hour in the dark, knowing what was to follow, what awaited you.

You parked, and you sat there a moment, thinking. You checked your hair, knowing it would just get messed up, but you wanted to look good.

You meet, you embrace, you kiss. You are taken by the hand, and led away from the portal to the outside world.

You are taken to a room where nothing matters except that very moment. You kiss some more, hands slip where strangers won't ever see.

It occurs to you that somewhere someone may be thinking of you, someone else may be in trouble. Somewhere, the sun is rising, but it doesn't matter. Because you are there, and no one but him and you knows. It is quiet, except for your breath, and the smacking of lips. You hear your pants fall to the floor, and you have to try not to laugh because it reminds you of a joke.

You laugh.

Maybe he understands, and maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's opened up his bag of insecurities. It wasn't intentional, and you try to let him know it's not him, it's you, but you forget when he starts kissing you again.

You do things that you shouldn't tell your mom about.

It's over. You lie there next to him, sweaty, out of breath. He thinks you want to cuddle, but you're not that kind of girl. He doesn't know that, so maybe you let him. He feels good pressed against you.

He falls asleep, and you try, but you can't. You just think.

You hear people talking outside, but they don't matter. They hardly exist. There is just you, and him, and the room. There is nothing outside of it. No bills, no work, no drama.

It's just you, and him, in the box of intimacy you've created. In the morning, it will disappear with the sunrise, but while you are in his arms, there is nothing else.

In the Morning -Junior Boys