Memories of Yesterday
by Shalane
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Only thing I own is the plot here. Characters, everything else to
fox and joss.
Category: Desperate, sad reminiscing about happy things.
Spoilers: None. Up to 3rd season.
Dedication: To my beautiful girl who inspired this, and puts up with my sick
obsession with her. Thank you.
I smell the tank top she wore only the night before. God, I'm like a junkie for your scent. So unique, clean and absolving. Just 23 hours ago, I was with you, radiating happiness. Now, I am alone with my solitude and memories. Are they still memories if they're from yesterday? Memories are the sounds of birds at that cottage in Maine. Anyway, these memories of you are beautiful. Filled with skin on skin, legs tangled, happy sighs and giggles.
Just last night, this empty bed was full of her. Full of us. Body parts, whose are whose? Glowing eyes and a welcoming smile. I hate when morning comes. Morning means leaving, untangling. You have to be home before noon, always. Some nights, I try not to sleep, but I always fail.
I don't deserve you. You allow yourself to be complicated and dirtied by me. You are like a child playing in the mud, who, when an angry mother appears, will wash herself clean. But the dirt will wait for the child, forever if necessary. I am your dirt.
I sit here and try to sleep. Or maybe I'm not trying, since I have the lights still on and I'm sitting up. I know it'll be an effort made in vain if I do try to sleep. The loneliness and sense of loss are overwhelming. You promise me a next time and forever, but all I can be sure of is a phone call.
I lay down and clutch a pillow to me. Poor substitute. This pillow has no silky blond hair to stroke, or eyes to stare into. It's my goal to sit up all night and think of what we'd be doing, right now, if you were here. I wake up sometime later with tears in my eyes and no trace of that smile you say I wear in my sleep. God, why can't I have you again? It's cruel bliss to have heaven one night and hell the next. But you couldn't slum with me for more than one night a month. Someone would suspect something. I crave your next visit like nothing I've ever known. And it's only been one half of one night. Twenty-nine and half more to go, just like this one. A poor ratio, but worth it. I live one night a month. Can you guess which one?