She laid in his arms, eyes wide open as she listened to the non-sound sounds in the bedroom. There was the heavy sound of his breath, indicative of peaceful slumber, the faint sound of crickets outside, and the rest was the burden of nothingness. It wasn't like her room at all, with the music and white noise of a fan blowing cool air against her legs. But that was the thing of it, wasn't it? It wasn't her room, it was his. And she wasn't sure if it could ever be theirs.
He wasn't a bad boyfriend; in fact, he was a rather good one, especially for her first time around. Sweet and funny, complimentary and with a lovely capacity to listen. She just found that she often had nothing to say. Oh, they talked. Of course they talked. But she knew she was holding back. She turned slightly, enough to regard him in the darkness. Once more, the feeling that she was cheating him out of something great crossed her mind. Not her. She wasn't anything particularly special. But the feeling, the real feeling of...
Of what? She snorted slightly, eyes rolling at the maudlin turn her thoughts decided to take. Of love? Of having someone be as crazy about him as he is about them? Well, yes. That was the answer in return to the cynical questions. When did she turn into such a cynic, anyway? She used to be a romantic all the way -- all the way, that was, until romance happened to her.
Flipping back around, careful not to wake him with her jostling, she stared into the darkness and focused on the writing desk across from the bed. The mess upon it reminded her of her own desk back at her place. Someplace that she wanted to be right now, with her own bed and snuggled into her own blankets. Things that smelled and felt familiar and safe.
Things that felt like home, rather than like being a guest.
Created: Aug 07, 2012wallflowersperk Document Media