Point break

I won't need these, she says as she rolls down her panties and jumps to a bed next to me. Looking up at my transfixed face, she giggles. It's far from dark, full moon lights up the room, deceiving relics of her modesty. It's the last ever second before I press my lips against hers and leave my tainted misbelief behind.

Flying low

It's 5 AM. Waking up after a three-hour sleep ain't easy. It's full moon, sharp coldness draws underneath. Teens' washed-out faces greet me along the way to the airport. Some of them are trying to figure out if I'm one of them — but the weekend bag gives me away. Most of them can't be bothered.

Flying is so mechanical, so lifeless, so dull. Exhausting, without being exciting. I'm starving to get from point A to point B in a blink, as a machine, not looking left or right, just passing through crowds and checks as a knife slicing butter, then sleeping on a plane and then crowds and checks again, until I breathe a fine cold air mixed with fumes someplace else. And a bed, I always need a bed afterwards, unless it's already evening and one has to party. Or unless it's morning and one has to work.

Once there were single-serving friends, those are long gone with the dawn of cheap flights; nobody even troubles oneself to pretend they're interested in the fellow in the seat next to them anymore. Nobody talks to anybody; why would they? It looks silly on a bus and more so on a plane now. Hour here, hour there, one can read a paper or dig their nose instead. There's no point to care.

This everlasting nausea is suffocating and torturing, yet one never drowns. It's over in short enough time and there's still flowers blooming outside, Jim Beam flowing and girls making love. And that does it for me as soon as I land. Every time.

May this be love

She came over to assemble my IKEA furniture. She said she loved doing it and I had no reason to oppose. Seeing she really came over with a toolbox and an electric screwdriver, I got she was serious.

So we built the bookcase, drank wine and watched a movie. Ate olives and talked. Laughed a lot and looked at each other, studying each other's smiles — and doing nothing more. Went sleeping side by side; without a single touch, without a thought of doing so.

And woke up, had breakfast and talked and slept again until late; little bed-in, just her and me, without the world interfering. It wasn't until dusk when we took off and went skating. Came back exhausted and hungry, went eating out and then to her place to watch a TV show. Drank more wine and shared another bed, more wine again and another set of curious looks and surreal smiles.

A night club after midnight, vodka/orange, thank you and thank you again. Night tram home, meaning my home, she put my t-shirt on and laid next to me as if it was the most natural thing in the universe. I'd love to hug her and strike her hair; nevertheless nothing's gonna happen, I won't do a thing. Is it because she's eleven years my junior? Or is it 'cos she's a friend of a friend who told me not to hurt her? Or am I only being pathetic and useless? All of the above?

Another morning and another bed-in till noon. Snoozing, watching movies, listening to music. And skating through the city again. Takeaway dinner and blankets. And a late night movie.

Maybe I should go home now, she says after a forty-eight-hour marathon. I kiss her good-bye and disappear in a second only to talk to her over the messenger within an hour.

It's only been a while — yet I wonder.