he & she

Writing

He held his head low, shaken down by the taste of loneliness.

Bitter yet sweet like the twang of a granny smith, yet there was no juice to lick gently from your cheek as you bit into it. There was only that sensation of him alone lying on the ground.

Broken dreams, he didn’t hold his head high.

Every autumn evening he would walk past an old apartment, and see the silhouette of a woman.

A slender woman, with a short length to her, her body and posture gave the man a sensation of home.

He walked by her window every afternoon around 4:30, he would imagine her shaking her hips against him, as if she were dancing with him.

She didn’t know he existed to him she was this goddess unknown to him but he loved her so.

In his head he could strip away the curtains hiding her and slowly grasp her hips and breathe down her neck leaving a gentle imprint of his lips on her soft skin.

As he drowned his face in tears, he realized that to her he did not existed only in his head did he have her.

She danced to the melancholy beat of a sad song that was reminiscent of her past lovers, but what did she dance for old love or new?

He just watched her as he would walk by, intentionally slowing his pace to stare into the silhouette of the woman of his dreams.

There was something different about today, he was walking by and the window was open, there was neither music nor her dancing slowly to any beat.

She was behind him; she had known she was being watched.

She called to him with a greeting, he turned his head, and his eyes opened like the mouth of a hungry Venus fly trap.

They stood there in an embrace; he wrapped his arms around her and smelt her ocean brushed hair.

It smelt of the ocean and sweet nectar.

Too bad He had to wake up.

 

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