Our Lust Became Us. -------------------------------------------
It was then that our lust became us.
His thoughts were no longer occupied with the taste of his coffee or with the expiring bus ticket he held in his loosening hand. The figments of her were captured in his eyes. What else was there in the world if she wasn’t apart of it…except for an eluded sense of detached avoidance?
She struck him as the kind of woman who could satisfy every ruthless desire a man could muster…that is, if he could keep up with her. The leather skirt that kept exposing more of her skin as she stood waiting for him suggested no signs of sophistication.
How he longed to teach her a thing of two about modern love and romance, but she wouldn’t comprehend it; her aura had a lackluster feeling to it. Love as she knew it could be no more than a pseudo sympathetic gesture. He would spend his entire life trying to change her nature if she allowed it.
Then the time came where she stood not six inches away from him, with her skin looking so soft it appeared moist, and her perplexed eyes taking him in. How she loved to take men in.
She stole a picture and a kiss from him. How she loved her loveless souvenirs.
I don't know what to make of this beyond it being a personal fancy of yours. Something you desire. And, if that is the case, then yes.. she has no clue when it comes to 'modern' love because... I don't think anybody knows what the hell that is.
I think the problem with writing about personal romances is that, we fail to see what they are. Do you see how this is so damn short? You leave room at the end for a lot of possibility.. but I surmise you only did this to conclude an ever dying whim. People, romance books in particular, create these single-serving pseudo-jovial love stories as if... as if that was what love was about. Which is why I like the title here 'our lust became us,' because... that is what love has become... a cheap kind of lust.
A mere myriad of 'she loved her loveless souvenirs.' And we've the audacity to believe we're uncommon, something special. Yes, human beings are so great. Yes, they're above animals who don't have half the mind to do anything beyond trying to survive and copulation. What on earth have we accomplished of more?
Romance is an idea better kept in our past, because at least then it retains some kind of sophistication.
Beyond all of that senseless payload, I think you should elaborate this story. Make it something else, more than just a sweet little statement, or a shortly lapsed period of time. Make love out of nothing.... So to speak. As alia might say it 'copulate you sonamabich, make love to your writing as you would love to receive from it.'