Disoriented

I was standing there in my kitchen, embarrassed by myself being so woozy and disoriented from yet another bittersweet goodbye kiss, or two. I could not allow myself to linger any longer in the stucco arch that separated the linoleum from the carpet, so I instinctively began cleaning. With an absent mind I started collecting the glasses, cups, and mugs from amongst the living room and bedroom. I remember trying to comprehend his fresh absence, but instead placing the cups into the already crowded sink. Slowly walking back to my room, I was in the open arch once again and alone, or so I thought. I heard to my right the brisk thumping of shoes hitting every few steps on the outside of my front door. I remember thinking that possibly he forgot something inside, but could not think of what, and was not able to ponder any further or even walk towards the door to open it prior to the brushing sound of the wood door against its frame. I could see his face once again, this time not slightly defeated, but blatantly determined. I subtly curved my brow in question (all of this amplified immensely in my head, trying to imagine my expressions from his point of view) as he advanced towards me silently, soon with his hands on my waist I was nervously flustered again. Our eyes met, and before our lips did the same, he spoke a select few words that I was not anticipating. We kissed tenderly yet intently until I lightly pulled back to return the statement before my hands were in his sandy hair. I vowed secrecy unsurprised and he said he really should go, it was late. I agreed honestly this time and said goodbye warmly with odd empathy, and the smacking of rubber on stairs was now reversed, dull and distant. This time, I faded away.

The entire house is empty aside from my bed. We were half-lying there, and synchronically would lean in slowly to kiss. Seconds lapsed and I could begin to feel a miniscule, unintentional smile forming against the warmth of his face, and upon either his noticing or reciprocating, the smile turned to a stifled then complete laughter. The stronger we would try to restrain, the harder the inevitable laughter would become, and the farther or more heated we became in those minutes the more light-hearted retribution we would give the other for ruining it all. Eventually we would give up on the seriousness, only to begin again, and end up in a laughing fit lasting far longer than the kissing itself. When I would finally pull myself together and create a poised and serious self he would return the efforts in a grin against my lips and I could not help but inadvertently replicate my own version. I remember taking in the moment as it played out, conceiving that we were alone and he seemed as content as he could be with watching each other chuckle at our own strange expense and there was nothing there but just him and me, and nothing anywhere else at all.