The weather was middle of the Summer humid, shower steam sticky as I had never known before, not that weather was on either of our minds. We kept the motel room air conditioner running, and in the middle of the night we would twist and turn and cling our bodies together, chilled, but not enough to cover up. Some nights the shifts of skin would stir us up and we would fuck half-asleep, barely registering anything but the motion of our bodies, and the rise and fall as we came together, triggered more in this nearly unconscious state. You traced words you could not say out loud across my spine, letters curving into confessions that I strained to translate. We were meant to be a holiday, nothing past the return ticket that was tucked into the inside pocket of my bag, but somewhere around five days in I felt myself wanting more. I was never built for temporary, for a throwaway, paperback romance; no, I was the fall in love and fade into you type.
But, what I hadn’t realized, was so were you.
All those skin trade secrets your fingertips left on me, I never quite made the connection of words and intent. I mistook your touch for poetry, and not promise, and as I drove away I felt you fade into nothing but my memories.