Souvenir

The hallways of my house echo a lonely tune. My gaze skips across a sea of streetlamp beams. Framed by an inviting window, a homey shadow goes about its business. My mind wanders past what I can see: bags stuffed with clothes, scribbled goodbye letters, pieces of the life she is leaving behind. As the glowing window beckons to me, I know that mine is closing.

My thoughts peer into her entryway. In an instant, my feet register the cold reality of nighttime concrete. My knock asks for entry, and the door swings open. She sings a welcoming hello. Our embrace is close and warm.

We almost slip into a prescribed distance, but she catches me off guard. “Can you come sit over here?” she confidently laughs. My inquisitive look poses a question. Eyes gleaming, she only smiles in approval.

We are speaking words, but the conversation is taking place elsewhere. A sweeping gesture brings my hand just an approving nod away from her cheek. Her legs are tangled in mine. A curious finger brushes my side. I trace the arc of her loose bangs, trickling down around her cheek, her dimples… Her lips.

Leaning in, I lend a short peck, then a slightly longer one. Her eyes spell a yearning proposition, and I nod. She pulls me in with a sharp breath, and takes my mouth as a souvenir. Swirling, melting, and tingling. A passing, rolling wave in the belly of an ocean. And though it is not a kiss of promise, it is all I want to know.