She looked to the beginning of winter as her great salvation, when she would see him again for the first time in too long. Then she might press her lips to his bare chest and tell him how she loved it and more what was beneath it, that maybe she was the only one who really got his fire and his soul. And he would be moved to some great realization at last, even if he didn’t so much as say “I love you” and instead laid her gently or pushed her compellingly onto the bed — either way she would leave him flushed and sighing with a sense of completion.
It would be an ending to an era so to speak, for just that once they would be on the same wavelength, bodies and minds and those great beating confused hearts, for only that one moment perfectly in sync. She didn’t truly have any great expectations of longevity, in fact, she believed it a miracle that he even kept his promise all these years and never deleted her number; still there always lingered beneath all the hopelessness the vague idea of something more. So even if that was all she would ever get then she would be happy knowing that some things do come to fruition, aren’t hindered by the everyday futility like most other things and she could return to reality with one puzzle piece fit and forgotten.
But she’s getting ahead of herself here. Four years is too long to wait between turning and making eye contact and making love.
Perhaps she should start with scotch, neat and he’ll have one too.
Lia Molly Deromedi grew up in Chico, Northern California. She graduated with a degree in Literature/Writing from the University of California, San Diego. Lia is currently in the process of completing her Master’s in English from Brooklyn College. She lives and writes in New York.