Touch has a memory

In all consciousness and partial daydream, she attempts to undress his mind, despite feeling as if he were undressing her.
Seems like a great deal that was going on, a bite of her flesh in exchange for knowledge she was famished for, as well as to satisfy the unsound thoughts of her inquisitive mind (which was as fidgety curiosity).
As afraid as she were, knowing she were the lamb walking into a lion’s lair, she allowed herself to be blinded by faith knowing her safety was at stake. It was, perhaps, the silliest decision she had ever made. But in a rough estimation, and hence a calculated risk she were to pursue, she was slightly confident the odds might be in her favour.
She did not have a fixed set of questions – but somewhere far behind, the thoughts were formulating within, being asked in the least specific way she could to prevent him from gaining too much: “What are you thinking of?”
There were alot of things that could’ve gone wrong – but didn’t. The odds, they were in her favour. A close call it was, and she tried to stretch the bubble of fortune she was cased within, bringing it closer to the fire she ignited, playing with it so dangerously. Perhaps the elasticity of her ‘bubble’mirrored the strength of her mind. For if she were to crumble like the apple puff in an oven, it would be her game over.
Conversations that were of some value – they were good when they lasted, about things we were passionate of, our goals in life, being skeptical together, and  “What’s the thing that captures your attention the most, from what you see before you?” The bay, the buildings, the roads, and the river… but nothing as charming as the lights in the great distant. “the Kehlongs, furthest away.”  The soft and gentle lights glowed from afar, integrated itself with the dark water, yet she could almost feel the warmth of it. Pretty little glow, so attractive, – yet – unattainable.
2 damp kisses sealed on her right cheek, as she heard his heart palpitate faster. funny – he’s still a boy. He’s afraid. But she was still a girl too, for she was afraid of what was to come. And she’s gone all still (mind you, perhaps stale like aged cheese too) in her reflex. In her mind, a part of her sirened and protested, warning her to snap out of her daydream and attraction to the lights and scenery for the fire might burst the ‘bubble’, her safety net. The other part of her was tempted to see how much further she could go. But these two conflicting thoughts felt like ripping each other up – and externally she remained cool, perhaps even stiff. Iced. “Are you happy?” Neutral. But that was it, that was another barrier she’d put to shield herself. Because she was vulnerable, and because she was warm outside yet cold within. By the minutes ticking, more thoughts were brewing within, yet she could only filter so much. The residue would probably be packaged in a cling wrap, placed in the chiller, to be consumed another day. Food for thought, very literally. In all honesty of 1 am, a very dark time into the night, I’d frankly (autocorrect for drunkly) told him the sincerest of all thoughts: It would have been nice if it were a date / *Perhaps* I would have known what to do then, at the roof
No, no fwb. How degrading it would be, how undignified, how your worth was merely based on the gratification and pleasure derived. And we all know, what it was like to be worthless.
Perhaps the conversation should have ended there. But it didn’t.


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