Staring into the eyes of lust while trying to remeber to breathe
Uploaded by bored_rxqueen on Dec 18, 2001
His face was tranquil and still, the force of
fortitude in the midst of the chaotic flickering of light that danced across his lips. Illuminated as violence played across the screen of the television, he lay at rest across the room: a distance not unconquerable in terms of metrics, but invincible in measures that mattered. His face fell dark as the parallel universe closed a dramatic sequence. The mundane impact of the “Mute” button only added to the gap bridged solely by the light, as the room was saturated by his regular breathing patterns. In the still silence of the isolation inflicted by the pitch black of outside, his inhalations seemed to shake the walls- providing a rhythm for the choreographic light. The soft sounds of feathers on down comforters made her hold her breath in contrast. As he exhaled, she let her mascara weigh down her eyelids; her own lips parted, allowing the air to roll out in smooth sheets of warmth and innocence. Listening to his simple
breaths, she felt her body tingle as though it were composed of an infinite fluttering body of
butterflies, making her skin seem an intricately passionate living organism. She felt the corners of her lips turn gently upwards in an involuntarily smile. She opened her eyes and rested her gaze upon his face, blue from the television light. His lips twitched and at once she was forced to suppress her urge to kiss them, for fear he might wake and disrupt the moment – which lasted for whole hours, brimming with the paradox of calm calamity. She immediately withdrew her gaze from his mouth, blinking back and redirecting her look up his top lip and over his nose, settling on his eyes. His eyelids were smooth and delicately thin and she remembered them in their moments of conversation, when they would flicker with excitement and speak the words before his mouth did. Wistfully, she recalled staring deeply into them on occasion, intrigued by the patterns embedded in the irises. But now they lay peacefully, only serving as projection screens to recount the tales of the haphazard light. His head rolled toward his arm, causing a strand of hair to fall gently over his right eye, where it met his eyelashes and embedded them in
an inferno. His hair, she thought. Rock star hair. An accurate representation of his overflowing façade of confidence. She had always detested...