Something about how the truck had landed on her car triggered something in her mind. Dying was easy and without any kind of pain. Maybe the music influenced her brain chemistry. And the sound of dripping, maybe it was rain.
It was a soft, pleasant feeling, as if she had just been made love to. Cradled in the steel, she had no sense of the limits of her body, or gravity, or cold or warmth.
Like being held in his giant hammock bed. There was lots of laughter and tickling, they hadn't kissed for years-and then suddenly, they were. Everything was white and bright and lovely. The rain outside was music enough; they listened to it before and after, and then snoozed in each other's arms.
Often after orgasm, she would fall into a light sleep and be woken up by a sudden snore or grunt of his. It woke her up just enough to bring her to the edge of consciousness. Like she was swimming, and breaking the surface. Just enough to remind her how lovely her body felt, just enough to make her aware.
And then she slipped under again.
In My Life by The Beatles
“We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.”
― T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party
It was a soft, pleasant feeling, as if she had just been made love to. Cradled in the steel, she had no sense of the limits of her body, or gravity, or cold or warmth.
Like being held in his giant hammock bed. There was lots of laughter and tickling, they hadn't kissed for years-and then suddenly, they were. Everything was white and bright and lovely. The rain outside was music enough; they listened to it before and after, and then snoozed in each other's arms.
Often after orgasm, she would fall into a light sleep and be woken up by a sudden snore or grunt of his. It woke her up just enough to bring her to the edge of consciousness. Like she was swimming, and breaking the surface. Just enough to remind her how lovely her body felt, just enough to make her aware.
And then she slipped under again.
In My Life by The Beatles
“We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.”
― T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party
No comments:
Post a Comment