At nine precisely they will dine
Living through each other’s lips
Perhaps through words without the scripts
Hands passing by, they refill the wine
And through the cracks where stars align
Choosing a new place their feelings eclipse
Ever at nine they will dine
Needing nothing but words on each other’s lips
Through the stars which split through time
And new horizons which tell him “mine”
Under too many bottles, as laughter tips
Resting beyond an absent Apocalypse
Impressing that in any place, at nine they dine
Holidays and vacation made her nervous. Her everyday routine was gone and someone else dictated when and where she would be. She felt untethered.
“You spend all your time working,” he said. “All your time in charge. Let someone take care of you for a little bit.”
Because he was her friend, she agreed to it. She wasn’t upset or anything. Just nervous. What would happen while she was gone? What if everything fell apart?
She opened her eyes when she felt the ship pull into orbit. She had let him control everything. It was only for a little bit. She was tired.
“Remember the time we saw those pictures of the Aurora Borealis?” he asked her.
He opened up the filters. “This isn’t like that at all.”
And when she saw what true colours could be like in space, the nervousness was gone. She was untethered, she was free. She had no regrets in the world.
In the beginning, I had thought the entire trip would just be the two of us laughing without a care in the world.
That was before the flat tire, of course.
“Get out the spare,” she said, taking control of the situation. She changed it out (with my help) and we were on the way again.
Then the hotel had misplaced our reservation in the hands on some family who had obviously already trashed the room.
“I guess your competitors get our business,” she said, without even blinking. She led me to the next best place, which proved to be the best place by the very fact that they at least accommodated us.
Finally, I was way too nervous. Even after having a great night out, the previous two incidents had freaked me out too much. I’m a big believer in the rule of three, after all. Something else had to go wrong.
“If you put it out there, that’s what you’ll get back,” she said, helping me out of my bra. “Let’s enjoy the rest of the night, ‘kay?”
Perhaps I got a foot cramp which interrupted us, but she started laughing so hard that when the pain passed… I couldn’t help but laugh too.
Vilified by the hard worker,
a break from the real world is something I need more often.
Can I go? Or is it necessary that I
atrophy by what society dictates my life should
try to emulate?
I refuse to fall within those standards, because
only I know exactly what I am capable of, and I
need a vacation more often than not.