Did you ever have that 4am someone? That person who was just yours? They felt like four in the morning when nobody else in the world was awake and the entirety of civilization belonged to the two of you.
I did once. She was magnificent.
We spent the days trading stares and notes. They weren’t love notes though, they were lust notes. A message of what I wanted to do to her and a reply with how her body would react. We were chemistry.
All responsibilities were eschewed. Our employers paid us to talk about how we would have fucked if we were in the same room. There’s no way we could have stayed employed if we had access to each other’s bodies though. I would have made her scream and she would have pulled beautiful obscenities from my lips, at least when they weren’t glued to her.
At night we pulled away from the world and lounged in purgatory. She would straddle my lap and pin me happily beneath her as her arms were lazily draped over my shoulders. The living were acknowledged, but we pushed past them to get lost in the abyss together. The clocks never worked right. Everything felt like that magical point of time where it all stopped and there was no sound aside from our lips smacking against each other.
Her tongue weakened me. My strength waned in her presence. She pulled the life from me and all I wanted was for it to never stop. I wanted to die at her touch.
We never made it to 4am, but whenever we were together she silenced the streets and quieted the crowds as if it were.
A Hopeless Romantic, Stirred 