untitled.

I am violently consumed and stumbling through dark hallways between rooms heavy with the smell of cheap beer and apprehension. I hear abrasive dialogues being surreptitiously whispered for fear of certain judgment. My sentiments being ever-questioned, I reject this room for what it doesn’t hold. My eyes hunt desperately for a means of escape from this greasy room that offers me everything that I’m not searching for. Disillusioned, I begin to drift again into the dark hallway and emerge into the kitchen. It is dotted with the remnants of hope and the wafting smell of stale tobacco from outside the kitchen window, where the heat of rebellion still lingers. I comb over the overflowing dialogues- searching—and work my eyes around the disintegrating people. Someone opens the kitchen door and a breeze caresses my face, pulling my hair across my searching eyes. Momentarily my view is obscured and my balance mocks me as I stumble through the closest crowd of conversation. I realize I’ve grabbed hold to someone’s shoulder. I let go and allow my hands to grace my hair out from my face. Failing to acknowledge the stranger’s help in steadying me, I silently keep looking and picking apart the crowd face by face. Defeated, I sharply turn about, knowing the next dark hallway is one step away and my search will continue.

I’ve underestimated my stature, and whist twirling feel my balance being unraveled. His surprising hands have reached out to steady me from the repercussion of my twirl. I first glance down, in knowing fear, away from his eyes, and let my gaze fall on his hands that are wrapped around my elbows; and my hands that are resting on the soft of his inner arms. We stand, me frozen, on in the crescent-minded doorway. He’s begun talking and I shift my gaze up to watch him speak. I notice the quiet signs on his face of a sleepless night. His voice- which Is wordless to my nervous mind- seems to lift and swirl. It mingles with the smell of cologne juxtaposed with the sharp aroma of whiskey. He changes his glance – and looks at me sideways, in a piercing way that shakes me to listen for fear that he might see through the armor of my sarcasm and wit. But then his face relaxes and his gaze becomes starry as he lifts his hand to pull my bangs back so that he might see both of my eyes. I look up, hear him say something about my word choice- and I bashfully look down again and play with the keys hanging on my necklace-listening for the comforting jingle. I hear him smile and call me a smartass. Then I feel my fingertips on his collar bone because my hand has instinctively fallen there.