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Click hereCalm and Collectedness
I walk through deserted streets, kicking fallen leaves with my sandaled feet. My steps echo on the surrounding houses, the even darkness of their facades broken only by a dimly lit window here, a steadily thumping stereo there. The air around my bare legs is cool, making them cringe into goose bumps. The wee hours throb happily with that waking-day anticipation, just as my feet throb horribly with that after-work exhaustion; and as I try to grind the balls of my feet into my sandals to alleviate some of the pain, I also try to think of you, while telling myself I'd better think of something less taboo.
I imagine your chalky hand tracing my jawbone, circumventing my ear to go into my hair. I can almost hear the sigh escaping my lips as your fingernails scrape my scalp, your hand closing into a fistful of wild curls. You smile that smile of yours, the one that shows there's more to you under that screen of calm and collectedness. And as I go back to the real world, to walking through deserted streets, to kicking fallen leaves with my sandaled feet, I long to tear that calm and collected screen of yours with my fingernails scratching down your back.