Ennui
She crossed his mind as
though it was a street she frequented incessantly, a docile street. She strut
across with no inhibitions, she would do as she pleased, and no one would stop
her.
He relived his time with
her, he experienced all the emotions, and all his convictions with an intensity
he was sure would bring them to fruition. The smell of her hair when he embraced
her, an orgy of scents, a sinful joining of fruit and flower, his nostrils
blossomed. Her body felt like home, his hands knew they had returned to the
place from where they were fashioned. He was holding her waist the whole time,
but had just become aware of it, and so had his nether regions. The curves her
hips made, he held onto them like her whole body would cascade upon itself if he
didn’t. She whispers in his ear, the words society deem as a worthy response to
what he was experiencing…
I Love You.
He had come to terms with
the fact that he would never hold her like that again, and in this very moment,
he was at peace with it. It was just the ennui, it was the high heels she wore
whenever she crossed his mind.
