(stolen from a bigger scribble it got lost in)
Midnight grocery excursion; she's flying her hand out the window, tilting to rise and descend through crisp air, sounds muffled by winter. Even in the city the stars are blond christmas lights tangled through velvet sky. In the parking lot she spins, savoring the freedom rushing her head, her heartbeat's flutter, the swirl of steamy breath across her cheek. For a moment she hesitates a self-conscious smile; she hasn't been helping and the cart is ready for return. She stands, guilty and sheepish. He joins for stargazing, though the twinkling is no match for a night in the country and does not inspire their devotion to gather so many eye-fulls. Moreso, it offers excuse to sneak a little closer, bringing tilted heads against one another, exposing tender flesh at the throat. A curve that starves to be kissed. And it is. Gently. Because that is what he's feeling tonight, tender and worried about things he doesn't speak. But she senses and tunes her actions to fit, wondering why but rarely asking. At his place she eyes him, nervous and hoping. He can make her feel like such a stranger at times; this hurts in place of harsh words. It's a quieter sort of rejection. He's pushing and she doesn't know how to dance this way. She opens her mouth to speak but nothing sounds right coming out. Neverminds and nothings and back to start again. Squinting from the corner of her eyes she wonders if he knows, if she should tell him, or if what she is feeling is even reasonable.
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