Preparing on meeting Katherine, whom I met two days ago, as Nervously, I weighed my expectation of her physical appearance with the photo she sent. Squinting at the grey sky as thoughts of her was the order of the day; I firmly grabbed my phone, and impatiently glanced at her photo. The cravings to see and hold something started boiling in me as her angelic voice and sinuous English accent throbbed through my head.
As we planned our rendezvous, Katherine decided coming over to my place instead. Dismayed by her sudden decision, my room was arrayed as a consequent of her advent. She came, timidly sat on the bed, and meekly scanned the room. Her eyes caught mine and she threw a gentle smile.
“Feel at home,” I said. She quivered unexpectedly as though my voice was unfamiliar to her.
“I am,” she answered with that same captivating voice.
We lay in bed with no primal desire of hurting each other. Lying against my back, staring at the ceiling as if it cared about what I hold on the sly, whilst she ardently kept her gaze at the ongoing movie. A few minutes later, a pang of discomfort hewed through me and was compelled to purge out my baffles at her visit. Readjusting my comfort zone to set her off to the same trail of my already ruffled mind, I called her calmly and she responded in the same zeal I’d expected. Turning in my direction and ignoring the movie, I ran out of utterances coming in close contact with her. We leaned motionless, staring at each other without uttering a word.
During the course of our bodily interference, she derailed by the pause of the music set in the background. Katie besought me to replay the music after she confessed that it sharpens her adrenaline. The music was reset, and we resumed reasoning.
Her plastic eyes searched some cells lurking about within the socket of my eyes. Eyes to eyes, so emotionally engrossed. A sudden strong feeling of ease emanated by two humans locked in a lonely corner of a partially dimmed room that barely glowed, except by frequent change in movie sceneries. Quiet and snuffed like a dead zone. Our phones, switched off, and abandoned. A complete stillness engulfed. No rat shrieks or some ant invasions. No intrusion at all, or some unnecessary government bureaucracies; or some lies told by doctors and politicians; or some houseflies that consistently bugs your food and never get caught by the clasps of your parched palms; or Murphy’s law that is always right when you are left. The connection grew inexorably beyond all weirdness ever experienced, roaming, connecting, and reconnecting, tied by the force of likeness invisibly emitting from our senses. Words, scarcely obtained. Mouths shut down whilst tongues went on temporal strike, our ears silently active as usual, our breath seized for the moment leaving only the eyes on duty.
There was no need for any of the aforementioned distractions to absorb our attention as we were slightly trapped together by our inhalations and exhalations. The intensity in the connection buried the room along with its contents. We were extremely betrothed by its waves and cruelty. Moreover, in our senses we were winning over life’s oddity. A formation of love coated beneath clogged time of our worlds.
There’s no better comfort than two individuals creeping in bed with the same mind, culture and language. We unlocked the shackles of social shyness and anxiety to let communication flow.
“I like it classical.” I said.
“I like it modern.” She whispered, still petrified by the accumulated sensuality.
A scintillating conversation was afloat, pounding in the matter of our brains.
Despite her territorial consciousness, in no time, she gave me an intermittent access to her nodal region, something other men would jealous me of.
After a while, she felt a maximum indemnity under my blanket, as though seeking refuge in that weakened fluffy fabric that could barely stand an ant’s climax would avail her, the grace of restoring back her dignity. She bade for an emotional support. When I told her I’ve ran out of such. She cursed me for crossing her path.
When she was leaving, she kept muttering about her obsession over decisive guys, saying something about some guys who are sensitively proactive. Was she protesting about guys who live by surprises? Whereas, it’s been acknowledged right after she succumbed for her independence.
After she was gone, I could only draw a picture of her with my eyes closed. The mind job I suppose. All in all, just in two days. Two days lived through two weeks, two months, two years, two decades, two centuries, et cetera. In fact, any duration that got to do with two.
Just-In-Few-Hours summed up in a poem consisting of 10 syllables. A sonnet you may call it.
Why not pain rather than living single.
No intrusions or a single wrangle.
Two singles diverged behind bolted doors
and an exhaustive stillness to engross.
Luck, on our side to have all in our way.
Face to face, all in all, just in two days.
If nothing, but such joy in you, I found,
I discard money and all it dost bound.
Till my eyes set you, such promise; I lay,
with you again, and longer than a year.