A Lack of Pillow Talk

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sometimes you're into someone much more than they're into you.

Submitted: October 14, 2018

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Submitted: October 14, 2018



"Is there a word for what I feel?" I asked her.
We lay intertwined beneath sheets damp with sweat, my head rising and falling with the slow rhythm of her breaths as I rested on her chest.
"How do you feel?" She asked. Her words blended together, as words often do when one is on the edge of sleep. I knew I didn't have especially long before I lost her to the approaching wave of unconsciousness. But what I felt was too unusual to ignore. I wasn't sure how to put it properly into this language. I'd been in the States for a few months now, but things were still pretty hard. It was lonely, this inability to to communicate. I wanted to be able to do it with her most of all.
"I feel...I don't know how to say it. It is like when the flower comes up from the ground in spring. It is small...and it is..." I trailed off, the words seemingly impossible to conjure. I clenched my jaw in frustration, hoping she might come to my rescue and understand my haphazard explanation. Seconds passed.
"Hmm?" she quietly replied.
"Is there a word for that?"
"A word for what?"
I sighed, trying to think of another explanation.
"I feel like...like my soul forgot to put on clothes. Like there are butterflies everywhere in my body. It is...pink, and new. Like...like I am naked. Is there a word for that feeling?"
I paused, expectant. In the silent minutes that followed, I realized I would not be receiving an answer. Later, I learned the word I was looking for. Vulnerable. But in that moment, I gradually grew cold, and a soul filled up with words I couldn't say slowly put its clothes back on.

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