Saturday, June 5, 2010

Happy Hour

So you're sitting at a bar drinking mojitos with nothing else on your mind except happy hour. Scratch that. Two hours. The only relationship you really care about is the one you have with the bartender. Your favourite song is now on and you feel like dancing. The only problem is that you're not really the dancing kind. You still go for it though, because blowing off steam (not to be confused with water vapour), is exactly what you need, exactly what you have been waiting for all along.

Bodies swaying sexily on the dance floor. No regular pattern. Beautiful chaos. The echoing laughter of the hopeless drunk, the captivating smile of the handsome stranger. Everyone reaching for that very same climax, that unreachable seventh cloud and the one next to it. Everyone attempting to get back lost time. Including you.

At the beach, the music is still echoing in your head. Looking up, you find yourself smiling because you knew you had this coming all along. Yet this was unforeseeable. The butterflies in your stomach are letting you know that it's going to be all right. And you believe them. How could you not?

But then you find yourself in your room on your bed. And suddenly you realise what this was all about - one microgram imagination combined to one microlitre wishful thinking. Increased by an order of magnitude.

For now.

No comments:

Post a Comment