There are no thunderstorms in California

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There are no thunderstorms in California.

Oh, how I adore the smell of the wet warm earth after a storm. How I would wait to hear thunderous crackle, to see the sparks forged from the sky. But nothing.

There are no thunderstorms in California.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine your sound. I imagine the raindrops that would gently kiss my skin, opening my pores in the most delightful way. I would jump, puddle to puddle racing through the tall grass. Just me and the elements. Once the lightning struck, I would then run into a small stone home. Where it would be warm inside from the fireplace, just in the living room. What a perfect mixture of smoked wood and petrichor. If you open all the windows, you could get a view of the long stretch of land, never ending. Silently, I would watch as the Heavens struck Earth.

There are no thunderstorms in California, but when I close my eyes anything is possible.

you melt me

We had made eye contact more than than once, twice. Now going for a third time, our eyes locked like lions on the prowl. My eyes wandered from his hair line, to the bridge of his nose, down to his slightly plumped lower lip, where I then looked away. Across the bar, he sat with two other men, friends I assumed. They were way too busy debating, who would win the football tournament to notice the exchange of our hungry looks. My friends, on the hand, had abandoned me to go dancing on tabletops with all the other alcoholics. His eyes caught mine again… glazed over from being lightly buzzed, I guess he was an alcoholic too, but it didn’t matter to me. The loud music blaring static in the background didn’t matter, neither did the sixty year old drunk over my shoulder, who insisted on buying me drinks the whole night. None of it mattered. All of a sudden he bit down on his lower lip, so deliberate, so sensual. It seemed as if we were in a room all alone, lit only by a single candle, with the faint sound of harsh acoustic roots and blues. This is what I imagined of course, none of it was real. I can remember, wishing I too was drunk like all the others, so I could muster the courage to walk right up to him and demand that he come home with me. But I wasn’t drunk, matter fact I was 100 % sober. Sober, miserable and lonesome staring into the eyes of my dubious, impending lover. Would he come to me or me to him? I played the various scenarios in my head over and over again, but still nothing. We both sat quietly at across road, waiting for the light to turn green. Hours later, I was calling a taxi for my two intoxicated friends, so my poor car seat wouldn’t receive, yet another victorious stain and that’s when he appeared. Locking eyes again, he paused and then continued to enter his car, speeding off into the night. “Well that’s that.” I thought , getting into my car. While driving, I approached a red light. Suddenly, I heard the revving of a car engine and there he was sitting to the left of me. He rolled his window down and with a smirk asked, “Will you come home with me?” I looked down shyly, then back at him, the light was green and we both sped off into the night.

His lips were on mine, before we even entered his place. The taste of his lips so soft, but threatening. His tongue and mine intertwined, as if it were fate that had brought the two together. His hands searching his back pocket for a key, distracted by the feeling of my waist, my hips pressed against his. I distanced my lips from his, allowing him to open the front door. He hit on the light switch, then gestured me to enter before him. It was small and crowded with piping still exposed. He reached into a cabinet behind the door, pulling out a match and lighting a candle in the middle of the floor, I turned off the lights. “So…” he whispered softly walking closer towards me. “What’s your name?” I looked down at my feet searching for the confidence to lie. “My name? My name is … um Honey.” I lied. “Honey, huh? Well, don’t you want to know my name Honey?” He grinned. “Um no… no I don’t. I think it’s better that way, don’t you?” I responded nervously. He stepped closer, his hands drifting from my face to my hips to my hands, guiding me to his bedroom. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.” He mumbled. It was in that moment, that I felt a rush of anxiety, like I suddenly forgot how to breathe. “Do you have a bathroom? I just want to get more comfortable…” I muttered. “Yeah of course, it’s to the left.” He replied with a confused look on his face. After entering the bathroom, I locked the door behind me, glaring into the mirror at my own reflection. What was I doing here? How did I end up here? I splashed cold water onto my face, prying farther into my own thoughts. Was I really going to sleep with this man, this stranger? I have never done anything like this before, this daring, this stupid. These were the types of situations I was taught to avoid. I’ve never been so trusting, why was it different with him? I was completely drawn to him, for reasons I, myself were unaware of. So many thoughts raced through my head. Was this just a physical attraction, lust? No, there was more, or was there? Why did I allow myself to get to this place. He could be a murderer or a pervert, I had to be smart about this, I thought. I started to pace back and forth, back and forth, until I stopped, took a deep breath and slowly opened the bathroom door. The sound of smooth acoustic was playing on the radio. I walked back to the bedroom in nothing, but my fine silk lingerie, to find him passed out across his bed. “Beautiful…” I whispered. Then proceeded to lie down onto the sofa in the living room.

The next morning I woke up to the sound, ‘Like real people do’ by Hozier, birds chirping and the smell of burning waffles. I lifted my head from the sofa to find him standing there in the outfit, only God could design. “Good! You’re awake!” He shouted. “And you’re naked!?” I squealed covering my eyes. He busted into laughter. “So you’ve never seen a naked man before aye? I cooked breakfast, I think they’re a little underdone.” He said cocking his head sideways, looking strangely at the scorched waffles. “Under?” I chuckled. “Hey, I just wanted to say thank you, I feel so dumb… I mean, I don’t even know your name.” I said shamefully. “Well, I would say we are in the same boat… HONEY?” He laughed holding my driver’s license in his other hand, giving me that same devilish grin. “Looks like you’ve been waiting for the light to turn green. Well, what are you waiting for, honey.” He whispered placing the burnt waffles beside me on the sofa. I smiled slightly and then our lips met. “Can I ask you a question?” I asked pulling out of our embrace. “How would you describe a kiss like ours?” I muttered kissing the sides of his neck, up then down, then up again. ” Like… fireworks, you know like a star waning with countless titanic explosions, a supernova. A gentle, but fatal supernova.” He whispered softly in my ear. His hands held me so gently, so close, so warm. I was so much like the candle lit in the middle of floor from the night before and he, so much like the match.

“You…You melt me.” I smiled.

The story of the sun

Once upon a time, there lived a star. She was obsessed with the idea of love, so she would watched as all the other stars shot across the galaxy to meet one another in unity… But because she was too fearful to give her heart away, too afraid to join all the other shooting stars, she waited and waited, until she grew older. So much older, that all she began to attract were cold, small, lifeless rocks. She unknowingly began to warm all the rocks nearby with all the things she imagined love to be like. These rocks would soon form an orbit, all rotating around her light. But her poor heart, she kept it in a jar protected by a ring of fire. Far from harm, but also so far away from love. And this is the story of the sun and how our planets were formed.

the smell of pine

The rain continued to bounce off the glass window beside our bed. It’s been a whole week of nonstop rain. Last night, you said that we should stay inside all day and I suggested that we build a fort, made of all our sheets, blankets and pillows and you agreed. The next morning, it was still raining. I opened my glass window slightly, only to better hear the rain. What a gentle, but violent drum it had, and suddenly the aroma of pine trees had entered our bedroom. You tossed and turned, finally sitting up in the bed. “Morning.” You yawned. “Hey.” I replied looking back at you . Scratching your bedhead, you got up out of the bed to use the bathroom. The more I start to think about it, the more I realized that you were never really the sentimental type, but that was okay with me. You spoke clear and plainly, always straight to the point. You were never great at reading my mind or buying me gifts. So whenever, I was feeling some type of raging emotion, I had to explain it to you, otherwise you would be clueless. Which made being mad at you completely impossible. At times you were bit too practical for my liking, but no one’s perfect. I, on the other hand have always been the temperamental type. Overthinking, over-analyzing, always wanting to know what was on your mind. Sensitive, but ever so passionate. An explosive combustion. “Hey you, can you come back down to Earth now?” you whispered kissing my coiled hair. “Yeah, I was just thinking, you know sometimes this… feels like a dream. ” I mumbled looking up at you. You pulled me back into bed, trying your utmost to convince me that this was surely no dream, then we fell asleep with our hands and legs intertwined.

When I woke, I was laying in a twin sized bed, somewhere in California… alone. It really was a dream, I thought. When I went to look outside, it was raining. I slowly cracked my bedroom window, and there it was. The gentle, violent drum of the rain striking the Earth and the smell of pine.