(fiction posting -- I'm a writer; it's allowed)
He smells good. Damn him for smelling good. But he’s subtle about it. Subtlety makes it all the better. A whiff of boy that you get when you in physical proximity. I want that around. Around me. While I’m doing daily tasks. While relaxing and having fun. Not just when we’re at bars or kissing.
He makes bad jokes. And immediately apologizes for making them. It’s so cute. Sometimes the jokes actually are funny. I laugh. And I tell him it wasn’t as bad as he thinks. Sometimes they really are bad. I get to laugh at him for those. It’s so cute. I love that does it.
I want him in my life and I’m not certain how to get him there. I don’t know how to get myself there: sitting on the kitchen counter in a sparse but fairly clean house apartment. Soft sunshine coming in through the window over the kitchen sink. To my left there’s a brown ring burned into the counter from a previous tenant. He never really noticed it. The kitchen’s clean, not gross or grimy or molding so I don’t mind the burn marks either. And he’ll walk up to me where I sit on the counter, laughing and smiling, coffee brewing a few feet away. No lines, no stories, no brush off. He won’t speak sex to me, or love or even chocolate. He’ll speak coffee to me. Bitter and bold and full of life. Starting with the aroma and not stopping until it’s filled all my senses. He’ll speak coffee. Sweet, delirious coffee.
