dormitory

after a short stroll through the nicotine-laden haze of an uninviting night, we simultaneously cross the threshold into her place.

a sparsely decorated and seemingly spartan setup welcomes us as i speedily scan the surroundings on where to place my personal effects until i realize that the correct answer is within any empty space devoid of inanimate objects. her cube of a living space secures two bodies in close proximity with a bed, television, and singular table without any chairs or noticeable furniture to speak of.

a minimalistic, japanese aesthetic without a drop of japanese blood between these two entities.

on this table lay a mixture of an ashtray, tarot cards and books filled with spiritual guidance and novellas alike. these are the interests and peculiarities of what could be my complement, but i refuse to be optimistic in any situation that is so perfect, yet crestfallen as this.

we talk for hours about the most mundane, aimless topics that create a cascade of fruitless conversations until we realize that this is exactly what we want; this is precisely what we yearn for in the nights that separate these moments.

as i leave, i stand up from my cross-legged position and reach across the geometrically-perfect table and gently cradle her head in my hands and lay a kiss atop of her head. i close my eyes and note the warmth the spills from her onto my hands and the relaxation of her face at the exact moment that we make contact.

i hear her let out a subtle sigh and hold on for a couple of seconds longer.