SELF I MEMOIR
I Don’t Have a Poker Face When It Comes to Love
A winter night from my library of nostalgia
It’s December. I’m staring at the clock in your room, and I wish I could slow down time somehow. You’re in my arms, and I’m trying to memorize the sweet smell of your skin that fills me up with excitement and lust every time. I want to save that in my brain, so I can recall how it made me feel.
We talk about nothing and everything — childhoods, memories, funny stories — but never about feelings. You protest when I make the slightest attempt to get some real emotions out of you. You always say that emotions lead to drama, and drama leads to complications. I accept that, but my curiosity about you is stronger than my discipline.
You believe casual relationships are meant to be easier — no past, no future, only the present.
We whisper, kiss, laugh, and I catch myself squinting at the clock again — it’s getting late. My time is running out. I make another try to stop it with my mind, but I fail again. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with you, in this bubble of stolen time, for years to come. If you let me, I promise, I won’t say anything about my feelings — even though they’re boiling under my skin.
I don’t have a poker face…
