“I thought of you today. It was not the first time really; you have been on my mind ever since the day we smoked our first cigarette together, remember?”
She threw her cigarette butt into a cup half full with water, then reached out for the lonely glass of Pinot noir that was sitting on the glass table, patiently waiting for her touch. She looked at her wine: traditional red burgundy with a distinct aroma. To her, it felt as though the glass had been waiting there for years, when in fact, she had just poured it. She drew the glass close and gently rested it on her lips as though allowing it the pleasure it had awaited. She took a sip and held it hostage in her mouth, as she teased the liquid with her tongue before she allowed it to go down her throat. Then, effortlessly, she put the glass back down on the table where it originally was.
It was a little past nine o’clock. The moon was exceptionally bright causing the shadows of the trees to mutate into silhouettes of giants guarding her. A warm summer breeze ran through her brownish blonde hair that she had put in a bun. A strand of hair managed to escape and landed on her lips. “You’re eating your hair”. Those words echoed in her ears as she removed her hair from her mouth and smiled at the fleeting memory. That day had been an especially long and tiresome day. She was looking forward to that precise moment when she could finally shut the world – with all its chaos and responsibilities – out and unwind. Rejoining the workforce proved to be more difficult than she had imagined, especially after having been on a different career path. But it was something she had to do, and she did it with grace.
She took her pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. She knew she should not be smoking, but she lit the cigarette nevertheless – an addiction she could not escape. “I am going to quit”, she said as she exhaled a white cloud of cigarette smoke. “Monday; I’ll quit on Monday”.
On the table, near the glass of wine, lay a single piece of neatly folded paper. She looked at it and could not help but smile. “It’s funny what the little things can do”, she thought to herself as she began unfolding the paper.
“I thought of you today. It was not the first time really; you have been on my mind ever since the day we smoked our first cigarette together, remember?
I thought of you today. It was not the first time, but today was different. It was deep down inside and intense. I thought of your smile and your child-like laugh, and I could not help but smile myself. I thought of your eyes and your raw beauty, that which I fancy. Strangely enough, I also thought of your Pinot noir; I know not why though. But that was not only what I thought of today.
Today, I thought of you and all the poetry I could write on your skin; on every curve of your body; on every hill and every valley. I thought of the words I wanted to plant on your lips and tattoo around your neck. I thought of all the paragraphs I longed to hand write on your bosom and all over your belly button. I thought of all the commas and full stops I wanted to engrave in your jungle; of the sonnets and ballads I hoped to recite across your thighs.
I thought of all the art I could create on your canvas; of the pictures my fingers craved to draw all the way from your neck to your lower back. I thought of the music I yearned to hear resonating from your instruments, and the stories I desired to read along the curves of your buttocks. I thought of all the movements of dance we would practice until perfection.
Today, I thought of you and I realized: I need not be high on drugs nor intoxicated by alcohol to create art or juggle notes and melodies. I guess today, when I thought of you, art itself materialized – raw and untamed.”
She put down the piece of paper and closed her eyes.