His hands stoke my hair, my face,
The unfamiliar, calloused hands of a stranger.
He takes me, a half-conscious shadow, out of the club, into his car.
It's not a Jeep.
We drive into darkness,
Stopping finally under the neon lights of a hotel.
He doesn't open my door,
But goes into the room, expecting me to follow.
I do, picturing you standing there,
And not a stranger with hands too large, no Jeep, and the air of whiskey on
It's on mine too.
I close the door behind me.
When he grabs the back of my head,
Kissing me with rough, demanding lips,
A voice in my mind whispers,
"This is how to get over him."
And then I remember soft, gentle lips,
And eyes that devour me silently,
Like I'm a goddess.
A louder voice screams,
"This is wrong! You still love him!"
I tear myself away,
Running like the dog of hell is scratching at my heels.
In a way, he is.
The stanger's footfalls fade with exasperation,
Leaving me to be a teenage girl, in the middle of the desert, with no way
I walk toward town,
Begging for the sun to stay dormant for a while longer,
To keep me wrapped in dark.
But light does come, in the form of two headlights.
The car slows, then pulls over across the road.
It's a Jeep.
You step out,
Standing on your side of the highway.
From a distance, in the dark,
I can see dark bags under you eyes,
So familiar to me from my own reflection.
I can see you seeing me,
My shirt crooked,
Yet your gaze is not snide or calculating,
Maybe you were running away too,
I don't know.
I was trying to escape from loneliness,
Because love is much better when there are two people.
I do know that on that night,
Staring at eachother from across a road,
Across a fate,
Across a universe,
We threw destiny out and paved our own way,
When we met in the middle,
And hugged, and kissed, and loved,
With lips perfect, and hands just the right shape.