Blogging · Fiction · short

The scarf…

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Do you remember this scarf, carelessly thrown on your couch?

I hadn’t announced myself, as I rarely did… I liked to be like a feather in the wind, letting it take me where I needed to be. And every so often, it seems like I needed to be yours for the night.

You never called out for me, or at least, I have no recollection of you doing so. Perhaps, you never needed me, or even longed for my come back. I never cared that you didn’t. And that somehow made us even.

I think.

I knocked softly on your door, barely a scratch on the wood. Like a cat back from its stroll in the neighbourhood, asking to be let in.

It never took long before your long silhouette greeted me.

Your apartment was always dimly lit, and I walked cautiously through the semi-darkness, making my way to the living room, followed by your haunting shadow. No word spoken just yet. There was no need for small talk.

More than once, I had thought about being theatrical. Walking to the center of the room, inviting you to make yourself confortable on the sofa. Slowly unbuttoning my long trench coat, still wet from the evening rain pouring outside, and letting it slip from my bare shoulders. I know sexy undergarments would have sufficed you.

But I much preferred to feel your hasty fingers unwrapping me, like a present.

Leaving a trail of clothes on the way to your lair. Only witness to our occasional nights of burning passion.

Like this scarf, carelessly thrown on your couch.

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