Rosetattoo

Thunder rumbled and the clouds stained the sky like giant grey bruises. The weather fit my mood. I was dark. I was angry. The passion I had kept inside for so long was rolling trough my body in waves that matched the angry strength of the wind crashing at my windows. She was inside my blood, her presence filled my mind, my soul, I could smell her on my pillow case and feel her lips against mine. I stalked through the house, eager to find something to take the energy from me, to leave me limp and stated. Candles were burning in my room. The cold wood floors echoed with the sound of my feet. I swear I could hear her voice, her laughter dancing around me. She had been gone for only a day and I wanted her back. I turned a corner and saw myself in the mirror. The bite marks were still on my shoulder. My eyes were haunted and my hair was loose down my back. She had loosened it before she slid off my shirt. She had run her hands though my hair and then pressed kisses on my body. When she walked around my room I finally understood the words “unabashedly naked” she was beautiful, perfect. From her toes, up her long legs, over the tattoo of a rose on her hip and to the top of her head. My ideal. But I can’t keep her. So when we woke up that morning, and I looked into her big brown eyes, I knew I had to send her home. She wasn’t mine to hold. She belongs to us all. If I could only tell her what I feel. If only I could say to her that she filled the emptiness in my soul. But I just smiled and kissed her goodbye. I watched her drive away with a tiny piece of my heart to add to her collection. As the red of her car faded into nothingness the wind picked up and the rain began to fall.