Moving On

I stood outside her door eager to find out what was in store for me. The next thing I remember is drinking wine out of large coffee mugs with you; then you carefully select a record, place it on the turntable, put the needle on the record, and melancholy sounds start reverberating around the room. We start talking about the beauty of classical, swing, tango and other forms of music, and in our inebriated state, we suddenly start dancing. I’m holding you close, your breasts tightly pressed against my chest, swaying side-to-side never wanting to let go. I ruined that moment by kissing you. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the music, or, maybe it was our way of saying to one another, “I want you.” The next thing I know, we are laying naked, staring into each others eyes trying to catch a glimpse of your soul.

On a whim, I thought it would be a good idea to drop all my responsibilities, term papers, and final exams, all for the remote possibility that I might court her. I could have stayed with you that night, and I don’t know what came over me, but I left you to sleep alone. From that moment on, whatever fire we had for each other, was dead and gone.

JCH

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