21:30
I wipe the tears away.
Agree to meet this stranger.
Just a rebound,
a moment to forget.
I know what I'm doing is wrong
but I need to feel wanted again.
He says he already had been drinking.
I shoot three shots of liquid courage.
Armor, and a mask,
to convince myself I’m not craving more.
I get into a cute short black dress.
Barely-there heels.
Eyeliner with a razor’s conscience,
sharp enough to cut through small talk
and my shame.
I bike down into town.
Warm night.
You can smell the summer in the air.
Got the music blasting in my ears.
The drivers glance:
the men: because I look hot,
the women: because I look like a freak- dancing,
steering between desire and despair.
He's already waiting.
We sit at the closest bar.
I tell myself: keep it casual.
I can tell he is completely smitten.
I smile like he is already mine.
I look even deeper into his eyes.
He reminds me of him.
Has a nice beard too.
Do you think it vindicates me if I pretend it’s him?
Drunk on lazy confidence and easy conversation,
I forget who I am supposed to be,
forget the rules I set for myself.
My mind erases the life
outside this bar,
this man,
this fleeting moment.
Even the background blurs.
He walks me to the bike.
Shy, blushing, clunky.
But so endearing,
so achingly real.
I don’t care who sees.
We kiss… no, we make out.
Hungry, starving.
It’s a good kiss.
The best I ever had.
He smells nice.
His beard is soft and long.
I scratch it, like I do his,
but the thought doesn’t last.
The pretending stops.
This isn't substitution anymore.
This is its own thing, its own kind of beautiful.
I am reminded that I am here,
I am alive,
I am wanted.
And bam - he lifts me!
It’s so natural I don’t question it
’til I’m already in his arms, off the floor.
“It’s so effortless… is he that strong,
or have I turned into a floating bubble, weighing nothing?”
His body already knew
what to do with mine
before either of us thought it through.
Noise fades.
My mind stops buzzing.
No overthinking.
No fixing.
No longing.
I am floating.
Finally held.
Finally caught.
Cinematic.
Like a scene from a movie.
Am I imagining it?
Did I make this up?
I know I am messy… probably trashy.
But I cannot hide the beauty under the shame.
I came here for an analgesic,
instead I found magic.
Does finding something real erase the lie I started with?
Held in his arms, shame softens.
I feel less like a bruise
and more like something worth holding.