Goodbye

My breath came in short, ragged gasps, thick with exertion. I rested my sticky cheek to his, memorizing the way his hot breath felt on my ear and the way his heart seemed to beat through his chest, through my chest, to touch my own. I held perfectly still. Maybe if I pretended not to hear the old clock ticking seconds away, maybe then time wasn’t really passing.

His hands claimed me, just as mine claimed him: one hand intertwined, the other on each other’s hip, as if we were dancing. He moved first. He slowly pulled his head away to meet my gaze. I lay unmoving. I could feel him thinking, feel his thoughts forming. I didn’t want thinking. I wanted feeling.

Carefully, slowly, I moved my hand from his hip to his cheek, enjoying the imperfections of his skin, the hint of the five o’clock shadow, even though it was only three in the afternoon. I could have hushed him softly or smiled gently to assure him I didn’t need words. Instead I stared. I held his plain, familiar brown eyes with my own.

After more ticks of the formidable clock, his lips curved slightly, but my lips took the smile before it grew. Our frantic grasping renewed and we moved again. Afterwards, we fell asleep with our sticky cheeks pressed together, our ragged breathing encouraging each other.

When I awoke, though all traces of him were gone, I could still feel the way his heart beat against my chest.