anbwrites

Posts Tagged ‘romance

 

She was everything I had wanted to be, and more.  Her eyes shone with some sort of inner light and happiness.  The light she gave off was beautiful, for lack of a better word.  She was a captivating soul, and her gaze continued to hold me prisoner.  I did not mind, though.  And although I have credited myself with a wild imagination and a gift of exaggeration, I promise that all of these words are simply understatements.

Her name didn’t matter, nor did mine.

For the evening, we were simply two beings meshed into one with the sound of waves softly kissing the shore.  She didn’t say much, and rarely talked about herself, yet I still felt as if I understood her.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?”  She suggested as she lay back on the sand.

I could only nod as I struggled not to stare.

She seemed to know me well, though, and sensed that I wasn’t paying attention.  “Liar,” she mused and nudged my hip with her red-painted toes.

I smiled sheepishly.  “I’m sorry.  I find that I get easily caught up in the sound of your voice and I forget to pay attention to your words.”

“I guess that qualifies as a compliment.”

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my flannel hoodie, my mind fumbling for words while my fingertips tugged at loose thread.  “I would hope so; it was meant as one.”

“Aren’t you just a charmer?”  She flashed a knee-weakening smile, and I felt grateful to have been sitting down.  I shrugged and thought of lying down next to her, but my insecurities sank into my body and my mind like cement, which kept me still.

She’s a gorgeous creature, you dunce cap.  You hardly deserve to be in her presence.  Don’t be an idiot and try anything.  Just try to sound at least somewhat intelligent.

“So, your name is—“

“Look!”  She sat up and grabbed my upper arm as she pointed away from us with her free hand.

I looked around, trying to see what she saw.  “What is it?”

She scooted closer to me, our hips and shoulders touching.  I tried hard to ignore the shivers crawling up my spine, and told myself that I was just being extra sensitive, and that her body next to mine didn’t cause fireworks, or gastrointestinal butterflies like romantic films claim.

“Crabs are crawling out of the sand all over the place!  Look at them!”  She squealed, and a huge smile found its place on my lips.  “Aw, they are so cute!”

She was the cute one, in my humble opinion, not the crustaceans that inhabited the beach.  Regardless, I nodded in agreement.  “Yes, I suppose they are.”

“They look like they’re trying to find each other.  To reunite as friends, or lovers, or something.”  She sighed, and I could sense a feeling of longing radiate from her.  “What do you think?”

She looked up at me with her mesmerizing, doe-like hazel eyes, and I lost all ability to formulate coherent thoughts.  However, I made an attempt to not sound like an idiotic fool.

“You’re pretty,” I blurted out.

Damn it, you’re a lost cause.  Just go home and sink into your bed.  Yep, the one with the sheets that have the periodic table of elements on them.  Grab your towel and leave her alone.  Forget about your dignity; it’s too far buried beneath the sand to be retrieved.

Her giggling only helped to mortify me even more.  “You’re adorkable,” she whispered before brushing her lips against my cheek.

Her statement baffled me.  Not only because I wasn’t entirely sure what “adorkable” meant, but I also wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good thing.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Adorkable.  You know, you’re an adorable dork.”

Not as bad as being told you’re a loser with impossible hopes of capturing her attention, I thought.

I chuckled nervously, my nails digging into the fabric of my pockets.  “Oh.  Well, thanks.”  I tried to play it off, and to be cool about it, although I was the polar opposite of cool at that point.  My heart felt as if it had been stung by an electric eel, and I could no longer deny the existence of butterflies in my stomach.

“You like me,” she said, and I froze.

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

She giggled again, and I could feel blood rushing to my cheeks.  “You like me.  It’s okay, and it’s not a bad thing.”  Before I could dispute her claim, she carried on.  “You’re a science buff, a math man, and probably a left-brainer.  I’m the opposite.  I’m a right-brained, artistic, free-flowing person that runs on emotion.  You’ve probably felt like kissing me this entire time, but haven’t because you’re stuck in your head and over-analyzing everything.”

I was baffled by this girl beside me.  She was open, raw, and rare.  While I, on the other hand, was reserved, skeptical, and critical.

“That’s highly presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”  I tried to sound confident, but my voice was weak and shook terribly.

She shook her head and turned to face me.  Her tiny hands took mine and held them gently.  “Look me in the eye, Logan, and tell me that you feel nothing.  Tell me, honestly, that you don’t have the urge to kiss me.”

My gaze dipped to her lips and lingered there for a few moments.  Her lips were full and rosy, and looked incredibly soft.  “I… I don’t,” I whispered as her hands reached to touch my cheeks.

“Liar,” she whispered back.  She moved her lips and began to speak, but I captured her words with my mouth, and all of my thoughts vanished.  I had kissed a handful of girls before her, yet the kisses lacked emotion and were completely robotic.

I wrapped my arms around her frame and my hands proceeded to get lost in her hair.  Rational thought and reason flew out the window as our lips moved together.  All I knew was that I was perfectly content with thought of spending the rest of my night kissing this intriguing and tempting girl named Faith.  In a way that no made sense, I no longer felt the weight of the world and its many puzzling questions tugging on my shoulders.

Faith had a way of making me feel free.

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I haven’t had much experience, when it comes to physical intimacy.  Sure, I’ve kissed maybe four guys, and made out with a few, but it was never quite… There.  That spark wasn’t there, and those butterflies that I’m told I should feel were basically dead in the pit of my stomach.  All I would think about when kissing these guys would be anything but them.  I’d think about lunch, how I chipped my nail polish too much and needed to make plans to repaint them, etc.  I wasn’t drawn to them in any way, shape, or form.  But him?  

He’s a different story.  Whenever we kissed, the previously deceased butterflies were resurrected and fluttered through every vein in my body.  It was like my mind was no longer in control of my actions, and I was simply running on this raw need and hunger to kiss him until we somehow melted into each other on those hot summer nights.

I never considered myself to be a particularly rebellious person.  In fact, I always thought I was rather innocent.  But with him, it’s going to be pretty hard to play by the rules.