I Get A Kick Out Of You

The needle runs over the vinyl ever so carelessly. A myriad of sound rings out, the notes, the melody it drives the love of the two.

He grabs her by the small of her back and goes to bring her closer. Straining to kiss the nape of her neck she pulls away every so coyly, however he's persistent. He rubs his fingers all along the sides of her body, sending with it a deluge of euphoria she had never experienced. She shutters, and pulls away, only relinquishing her hand to him, and a lone smile.

This was one of those moments, whether they were in each others arms a day from now, a week from now, a hundred years from now, they would never be far from that moment evocative of all that was purity and innocence.

The Prayer

Time is beyond an objective point of view at this exigency. She can't tell the difference between hours, or days. She lays on her bed caressing the soft silk of her covers, retracing the patterns that her lover's body made. This had become her favorite pass time; she recognized the danger in not breaking from this mindset, but she hadn't cared.

His smell still lives deep within the threads which bind together so intimately... Intimacy, it was an abandoned thought at this point. She closed her eyes tight. As if a sudden warmth came over her, she hears this voice whisper to her ever so sweetly.

"With grace, and dancing feet, you can out shine the moon."

This was a drastic change of thought. It was revitalizing, it was hopeful... Hope. She hadn't recognized this aspect of humanity for quite some time. But is it right? Is it so wrong, to crave that sense of exaltation, to feel like something more than second-best?

She was convinced, she repeated it to herself, "you can out shine the moon."

Entry 2: Takk Small Time Shot Away

There's always an anticipation. A build up. To the next moment, the next event. Need to settle a bit, need to let what happens, happen.

Talking to people is a very surreal adventure sometimes. I don't know if it's a sign of maturity, or some odd sense of vanity. Passing along advice still seems like something I shouldn't be necessarily doing.

Entry 1: Paolo Mojo - La Ritournelle

An ambiance of sound and movements dance in the peripherals, a euphoria that can only be kept at bay by a smile. There's an odd anxiety and build-up with every word, as if the next carries with it more importance than it's predecessor.

That's not anyway to live, that's just simply too much pressure.