A solid pull from yet another cigarette. A means of suspending time, a pause, a break, a delay; her way of holding back a moment. She can only wonder. Silence is a cancer. A night filled with too many expectations, and questions. The wistful lambency of all the answers failed to fully satisfy.
Exhale, forcefully, through the nose, tapping the cigarette into a laden ashtray truly not knowing what will next come out of her mouth. Why. The reasoning tenuous, at best, but rationalizations are tricky things. Here, the morning after, she remains certain, but unsure.
Smoke fills the commodious hotel room. So many anonymous people have had sweaty sex here before. They’ve been here before, years ago, when questions were different, or never arose. Passion tends to overlook the obvious, all too often. I have to leave, she says, eyes cast downward. There is no other way.
Leave a Reply