Monday, 20 October 2014

What happens when the sparks forget to fly?

When boy meets girl, girl meets boy, sparks fly

Ceejay and I only started speaking after graduation, when he had travelled for his masters programme. We would spend long hours on the phone trying to talk about every other thing going on apart from the dirty talk we still too frequently had. That day I was over exaggerating the tale of my frustration with my little brother.

"Take a shot for me. a nice one with nothing on.", he cut in
"Lets reach a compromise, bra and shorts?"
"lol. Just Thongs?"
"Bra and strings. Last price"

He always liked my shots even when I didn't think they were too great. Taking shots was still new to me so I felt awkward and self conscious in front of the mirror or on my bed.

"Mahn. The way I'd fuck you when I see you. For hours. That's all I can say"

He always ended our conversations with promises.

He came back later that year to see me at lunch time. The air was tense and intoxicating. He looked better than he did in pictures and I felt almost ordinary beside him. I didn't expect it, but we ended up less than 10 minutes later in the back seat of his car, bodies intertwined, spent and short of breath. We didn't move just yet, savouring the moment.

Then he asked with that silly grin on his face. "Your heart fast, is it because of me?"

Not every time sparks fly, sometimes sparks forget to fly and there are no butterflies, and the fireworks are busy lightening the skies of another planet

I stood alone at the hour glass art gallery staring at Kofi Agorsor's latest work "Jazz Game" looking for meanings like I did with every painting. I felt jittery today, I told Alvin to meet me here. He was late or I was early, I had been standing for several minutes.

He was the finest thing I had seen in the recent months, maybe because he was a model, or not. I decided not to bother my mind over analysing things since my grandfather died.

He walked in then, a little too dressed in the vintage silk chiffon shirt he wore with ripped jeans. He had a gold chain around his neck, rings, a bracelet on. Too much accessories for a guy. The hug was awkward and brief.

He talked too much about himself rarely even giving me the chance to stick in responding compliments. Nothing was appealing anymore, the mouth I thought to be desirable I now found irritating, the eyes I thought to be appealing were too aloof with pride.

"there are some people that are better admired from a distance"

1 comment: