You Remind Me of HomeToday's Tune:
A random love-themed snippet from a short story I'm currently working on. Happy Valentine's Day!
There’s something easy and thrilling about making out with someone who doesn’t speak your language. Literally, I mean. Not in some metaphorical “we don’t operate on the same wavelength” way, but in a “he speaks Italian and I can only understand about every third word he says” way.
But he’s hot and his mouth is sweet. We’re two people smelling of oil paint caught in a piazza full of Roman rain. He tastes like rosewater gelato. It’s good. Other painters are throwing tarps over their easels and running around us, out of the downpour. I imagine we're rocks in a stream, the water pushing and caressing but never moving us. The image makes me giggle against his lips and I feel him smile in return. I catch a glimpse of his canvas and watch my face melt and puddle on the ground.
I didn’t used to be this ballsy. Not even close. I once stared at the back of a guy’s head in class for an entire school year and never said more than three words to him. Weird how a change of scenery can reinvent you. You come to a new place and it makes you a new person. Back home, I was all slick ponytails and downcast eyes. In Rome, I’m sopping-wet waves and artistic inspiration.
“Vieni, vieni,” he laughs, pulling me behind him as he joins the scattering artists. My feet don’t move right away. I’m tempted to stand here by the little fountain and the dripping paint and twirl in place like some scene from a movie. But he’s a really good kisser. I wonder if Kissing 101 is required in Italian secondary schools. I let him lead me by the hand and we run, run, run...
That's all you get! Mwahahahahaha!
So, doing anything special today? :)