Not The Only

“Hold me,” I say.

He does. His arms encircle me, draw me close. Our bodies are pressed together. Some Bruno Mars song plays. The manhattan I drank has gone to my head. His lips press against my temple, full, sweet, warm.

Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” pours through the speakers. He sighs and draws me closer, as if it were possible. Our lips meet, tongues touch, taste.

I am so caught up that I never think of wishing this could last forever. Forever is now.

And then, it’s not.

I somehow became another, when I thought I was the only.

end 7/3/2017

Sascha Darlington