Touch #1

This was the first time S**** didn’t understand him. There were 37 in all. 9 long ones. 14 with tongue. 3 while holding her face with two hands. 4 while holding with one. 1 with his hand on her left shoulder.

Were they for reassurance? Were they to say that tomorrow will be okay? Was it for goodbye? Was he trying to gauge whether it was possible to leave all the different kisses behind? Was he measuring his dependence on desire?

Outside, the moon hung ceremoniously against a navy blue backdrop.

Her mouth had dreams too. Her lips had fantasies, her tongue, ideals. And this wasn’t it. This was tentative. The dome of darkness wouldn’t be lifted until tomorrow. In fact, tomorrow the sky might fall. The stars might crash down. The clouds will descend and slip through her fingers, and seep into the ground where they will disappear forever. The comets and asteroids will plummet towards the earth. The gravity of tomorrow will solely determine the future.

She didn’t rest her hand on his chest that night. Nor his on hers. They both knew that before they fell asleep the next time, there will either be a new beginning or a decisive end. Without his rhythmic breaths under her palm, she found it much harder to sleep. She wondered how she’d be able to adapt to the absence of the lifts and falls of his nightmares. She wondered if he’d miss her own ebb and flow of cravings. The up and downs of her principles

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll know. Tomorrow will be heaven or tomorrow will be hell.