Lately, all I wanna do is lie around with you and complain about the youth
Teenagers, wrapped up around each other in bed. The television on, neither of them paying much attention to the show. Laughing and arguing and kissing each other, hands in hair and bodies pressed as close as they can get. Dizzy in love and carefree, ignoring the clock and pretending like they have nowhere to be, nothing to do but be with each other.
We’ll never leave your room; tell me everything that bothers you
The boy sits up, arms curled around the girl as they talk about anything; he explains an old injury and she listens, playing with his hair. They can hear the street from the room – Parkway Drive is one of the busier ones in the neighborhood – but they are lost in each other’s company and hear only what they want to. She falls asleep and he traces the lines of her back and sides, running his warm fingertips gently over cool skin.
Miss your company long before you leave
Nine thirty: moving to the couch, Saturday Night Live, pretending to fight. She accidentally knocks over coffee in the other room and he cleans it and then walks out, settling on the couch. She follows him after a minute and sits obnoxiously close, tempting him. He caves soon and they are kissing again.
Nine forty-five: a text notification, a channel change, Titanic. He has never seen the whole movie and he doesn’t see much this time, either. They are making out again when Rose says, “Paint me like one of your French girls,” and he starts laughing, breaking the kiss because he never realized where the line was from. She laughs at him, smoothing his hair with her fingers and draping her legs over his lap.
Ten: another text, reluctant sigh, shoes pulled on. She has to leave, but she drags her feet. She stands eventually and he follows her to the door, tilting her head up to him and pressing his lips to hers. He holds her close and they kiss a few more times until they finally stop, and she is out the door. She smiles at the sky; there are clouds, but she’s never seen a brighter day.
I forgot how to be alone
I check my phone, willing a notification to pop up. I have never known love, and I’m not sure I do now, but I know something and it is that I never want to be alone. I had grown so good at it, but now mornings feel empty – in bed alone, cold under too many blankets without him.
I’ll see him next week, but the day cannot come fast enough.