words by Murielle M.
Image by Gussman Dva
Dusk is slowly falling over a dark afternoon. We lay lazily on the bed, eye to eye. It’s
complicated with us, each of us too caught up in clinging to their liberty, but we are here,
together now. It’s complicated with us, really. The clouds hang very low, and the lights
in the room lock the darkness outside. Mumbled voices travel from the other room to
our ears. You look relaxed and I take my hand to caress your cheeks, the lines around
your eyes, the soft-edge shape of your beard. The radio is on. Guitar strings accompany a
gentle, throaty voice that tells a tale of affection.
Fuck me, I am falling in love, he sings, and I think Fuck me, I am falling in love as I look
into your eyes. It feels warm and sound in every fibre of my body. You smile at me
tenderly, and I can see that we are united in our feelings for each other. Fuck us, we are
falling in love. But that’s not what it should have been like. You lean over to place a kiss
on my forehead, and I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the endearing depths of these
tingling emotions.
We are complicated, because we don’t admit. We assume, and we never speak of our
emotions, but we feel intensely. We shower each other in affectionate gestures, and it is
never that simple with us cause we said no strings attached. Your hand reaches for my
head to place more kisses on my cheeks, and I wish we were not as complicated. It could
be you and me on a bed, falling in love repeatedly.
But I misheard.
We both misheard.
He was singing Fuck me, I am falling apart; and we will fall apart soon enough.
