It is not proper. It is not sane. It is not logical in any form.
It is all one contradiction after another. And even though it was in your very being to be as sensible as possible, sometimes you like complexities.
The girl with bright hazel irises and neutrally a brooding look would not leave your mind. Her face burns in your mind, conjuring odd feelings and tensions. It is inappropriate, to hold your desires in that if such were acted upon, would only bring more wrongness into your life. You had held these inner feelings and desires and utter strangeness in; allowing the course of your life to follow a predetermined path, because it was the most logical. For so long, you have continued to stray from your heart and rely on logic. Thus far, it has given you the most satisfactory of a life than many others. You feel fortunate, always, regardless of a quiet yearning that has been built.
You've suppressed all illogical, illicit ideas away, and yet it felt all so right. Or perhaps, that wasn't the word.
It just felt natural.
And so when you couldn't sleep and you drove to Tric to attempt to at least practice for recording some distorted love story song, you're amazingly elated when you don't. Instead of an expected night, you act upon natural instincts; and the girl with hazel eyes acts upon hers.
You never asked her, never allowed verbal contact to ask if it all seemed like some sort of act you were born to take part in. But by the oddity of it, by the utter warmth of it, you believe that she holds mutual feelings. It is in her blood to desire yours.
xxx
It's probably around 2:00 AM, or something or other.
Her cold, air-conditioned office feels like home and it's weird. You haven't been here that many times, but each time you take notice to every band record or poster adorning the walls, her cluttered desk that is on the occasion neatly organized, and perhaps most intensely the brick.
You forgot if it was purely aesthetic choice or if it was simply cheaper to keep the walls that way. All that you know is that it is fascinating.
Concrete. Real is brick. Nothing can penetrate it's truth.
It gives you soothing reassurance as you start to enter the tiny recording studio. Then a voice stops you, and you nearly leap out of your skin. Her voice does not cut the air in harsh beats, it dances with an almost musical tone to it, but perhaps you're only imaging such descriptions as it's quite enthusiastic for so early in the morning.
"Hey, not that I don't love ya, girl. But what're you up to--don'cha have a family or something to get to this early in the morning?" You hesitate, and then she revises her question: "Better yet, what were you doing instead of going home on this lovely evening?"
"Well, first I got incredibly drunk. Like, drunk beyond drunk. And then had awesome sex with this guy that beats my husband by a long-shot," you respond cheekily. Her eyes light up at the comment and she seems to be (if possible) more awake. Then you remember; you've only been around to witness it a few times, but it seems that she is most alive in the earliest of hours. This is no exception.
You explain to her that you've drifted here, because you could not sleep and that no-- you don't really have a family to go home to, as they're currently on a weekend camping.
"Ah, so lemme get this straight? They went on a surprise trip camping this weekend without 'cha, and so he forgot to satisfy your needs before leaving; in turn, you found it an acceptable excuse to get totally wasted --and in addition-- knocked up with another kid that isn't your husband's? Am I getting this right?" She grins at the utter ridiculousness of the scenario and then suddenly her eyes shift. Instead of light-hearted amusement in her eyes you see a glint of something else. You can't tell what, but it is beyond mild amusement.
"Y'know, I haven't been able to get much sleep either, lately." Her eyes are piercing into yours now, the gleam bores into you with full force.
xxx
And you don't really know how the next few seconds occurred, only that they did in fact happen. Logically. Part of you imagines that timed stopped and thus, you cannot in honesty recall the truth.
Your lips are crashing together. By far it is not the most romantic kiss you've ever had; nor the softest, or the hardest. But it feels the most right. It feels as if you've kissed her so many times before, yet there is still the excitement of the first.
There are new sensations in this moment. It is not as if you've never kissed a girl before, because you have out of chastity and mere curiosity.
But it is all her.
You taste her and you are amazed you have never kissed her before. She tastes familiar and warm. Her breath is sweet and as you move closer, her scent surrounds you and you nearly swoon, even as your lips are still connected.
First it is her taste. And then her aroma. And then, all you know is that your bodies seem to suddenly be made for one another.
Your eyes open and you see her hazel irises again. In them, there are no distinct emotions or concerns; only a bright luminescence. Somehow, you've come to this uncharacteristically aggressive position and you are pinning her against the wall. You watch the brick for a moment, expecting it to crumble and for you to wake up in a cold, disappointed sweat. And then you remember: it is real. It is concrete, and it will hold.
You're kissing her again, in every place imaginable because all your mind can process is to taste her. Touch her. It is unlike sexual desire, but absolute, full-bodied desire. It's not that you want to fuck her, but that you want to feel her and be part of her.
It is in your being, so natural is it to be so close to her. With her, you are not two incomplete people but one. You are whole.