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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Room 112dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Flynn
    ASL Info:    24/M/MI
    Elite Ratio:    3.77 - 74/123/48
    Words: 670
    Class/Type: Story/Passion
    Total Views: 670
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3647



    Description:
       If it's not blatantly obvious, I wont bother explaining.

    Probably a tad awkward. But hey. Memories tend to be.

    The sky is filled with light, all the dark is really white, if you believe it -
    Trent Reznor


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsRoom 112dots
    -------------------------------------------




    When I awoke I felt an unfamiliar warmth upon my chest. I blink some of the sleep from my eyes and look to my left, at the heap of blankets rising and sinking.
    I smile.
    And the warmth penetrates my flesh and grabs hold my heart, basking me in something I had not had in some time - meaning. I sigh, a mix of emotions pouring from that breath. Gently, I move away, go into the latrine just to the right of the bed. Brush my teeth, take a piss, you know the drill. I look in the mirror, a bearded man looks back at me. Not the one I usually see. This guy was smiling. It was in his eyes. Life, youthful, energy. I walk from the bathroom and dress for the day, pausing as I put on my blueish hoody.

    Look. There she is, her eyes closed seemingly so lightly, her breath deep and relaxed. There is a small little smile on her lips. She took all the blankets. She was perfect. I think in some ways everyone looks perfect when sleeping, soft and at ease. But that perfection was a legacy of memories. Last night, the Chinese, weird cartoons and thumb-parodies on you tube. The conversations, the laughing, horsing around. That kiss, the smile afterwards, burned into my memories with the fiery passions of the young. Burned into my heart. Part of me, a very big part, wanted to lean over and kiss her as she lay, a secret token of my love. I did not yield. I took to the gas station and got some breakfast items - a pack of Reds and a giant damn cookie, and reentered room 112.
    For some reason she’d taken the covers and engulfed herself in them. I set to cleaning the room up to make the job a little easier for room service. Sat for a moment. I decided to wake her. It was getting late.
    I said. Hm?
    Mmrph was her reply.
    You awake?
    Yes.
    You took my pillow.
    Nuhuh.
    Yeah you did. Look.
    Smile.
    You know what sucks? I asked her playfully.
    What? She said, just a little tired still.
    Getting a kiss when you know you still have morning breath.
    No!
    Just a peck then. I smiled
    Okay. She did too.
    I gave her a peck.

    How I wondered and wonder now still did this happen. Last night when we were together she confessed, sitting upright in my teeshirt.
    I love you LJ. I have for awhile I…
    Or so my memory recollects. I was tired then. I don’t know if I said it back, but if I didn’t I should have. Because I did. I do. I will. We kept talking. Things had changed so suddenly. From playful to real but I didn’t mind. I wanted this to be authentic. And so it was. I dressed, we talked. I held her hand and she held mine. So it went for hours until finally we just relaxed and played a few games. Then…
    You’d think you know what happens when a young man and a young woman put the lights out in a motel room. I tell you no.
    We slept. Quiet. Peaceful, blissful sleep. Hell I don’t remember when I had slept better. She was so warm, so completely content at the moment it was… contagious. I held her hand. Room 112 in that town rural and quiet, the place that set alight my passions for life and meaning for being.
    I’ve been granted by God it feels, a muse. One whom I can rely upon for everything. Who spurs my creativity, who listens, who laughs and makes laugh. She is sanctity, exposed. The light of my life, my friend in whom I confided even my heart in room 112 in that town rural and quiet. Surrounded by foothills which are not mountains, falls that actually do exists and swing sets that squeak.

    -Dedicated to my dearest friend-




    Submitted on 2009-10-13 16:19:16     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Wow, that was another era of my life. I should get back in to writing. All things considered, this wasn't bad. I remember when I wrote this. It was on the bus on the way home from Idaho. I had a brief but wonderful stint with an old friend I met here on ES. She is married now, and I am in the middle of a divorce, have three kids... Out of the military.

    It's amazing how quickly life changes.

    Here's to you SanctityExposed, to old flames and to old friendships I raise my proverbial glass, and which you all the best in your endeavors. Though our paths did part, and we paddle now on separate boats, your memory will serve always as a reminder of what was, and that good women do exist.

    Paddle onward to clearer waters, my friend.
    | Posted on 2015-08-18 00:00:00 | by Flynn | [ Reply to This ]
      I think that your piece is simply lovley..

    I can not bring myself to make any other comment other then to take it as it is.

    A.
    | Posted on 2009-11-09 00:00:00 | by Mooncatcher | [ Reply to This ]
      Beautiful. The way in which this was written really touched a part of me that I usually do not acknowledge is there. The feeling that arose in me, I have felt a few times in my life; although, not willingly. I am lucky to have let it come over me willingly in reading this piece of yours.

    I even found myself laughing at certain lines, feelings, within the story. The ability to relate is awesome, for lack of a better or deeper word. Curious.. If any, what type of emotional stimulus are you trying to provoke in your readers?

    C.
    | Posted on 2009-10-13 00:00:00 | by misschalloner | [ Reply to This ]


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