He's from Newcastle, or so he says. And he's been in the Navy for four years, or so he says. We're the same age, although I am a month and a day older than he is.
We met Saturday night in the club and exchanged numbers, which is highly unlike me, but I figured it wouldn't do any harm since I'd only be in Victoria for another three days. But see, that's where I faulted. Because I was only physically in Victoria for three days, but I left something behind when I got on the plane back to Sydney and it happened to be my (figurative) heart. Yes, again. I fall in love too easily. This time I didn't fall too madly; but mad enough to want to take a plane back to see this Boy who has been occupying my emotional capacity.
He's a keeper, this Boy, I can tell. Just to put it out there, I was the one who made the first (sexual) move. For fuck's sake, I went out at 10.30pm on a Monday night to get a bottle of Chardonnay (which we didn't open because we didn't even need to get ourselves inebriated to feel the slightest sense of attraction) and a pack of condoms while he was making his way on the train, yet aware of my advances.
It wasn't love at first sight; that doesn't exist anymore, now that we've grown older. But it was love at first text-message-conversation. I prematurely invited him for dinner Sunday night but bastardly took it back because I wasn't sure of him, of the situation; of my self. But as the hours pressed on, I felt more and more attracted to him (yes, via SMS) and I knew that I had to see him one last time before the opportunity saw itself to the door and walked away into this concrete abysmal mess.
I waited an hour in the cold, well past midnight; almost certain he was going to stand me up. Toorak, VIC; literally in the middle of nowhere - he finally got there and we decided to take the last train back into the city because there was nothing open and we'd both only been in Melbourne a mere two nights.
We sat by the river, beside the docked boats; talked and laughed til my cheeks ached, kissed like we'd both never kissed other mouths before that night. It was still freezing out and we pulled our hoods up, cuddling on the wooden benches. I invited him back to the hotel room, but we could only go after my roommate had fallen asleep. We held hands while walking; I felt like I'd known him only just and forever at the same time.
We did it on the bathroom floor and it was the first time I orgasmed from penetration without having to try so hard; with a Boy I'd only done it the first time with. It was cute in a sense; he was so awkwardly shy and polite about everything. He let the tap run so the roommate couldn't hear anything.
We stood outside the hotel, laughing and hugging. He said he was happy for me, I don't understand why. But at the same time, I felt serene; knowing I wouldn't have done anything differently, knowing that I knew what and how it felt to be with him. He left at 3 in the morning and didn't text until the next night, after I'd reached home, after I'd waited by the phone for a message, with my will to live half diminished.
We've been texting since and he tells me I'm beautiful every night. I tell him about my mundane Sydney life to which he laughs at. He thinks I won't actually meet him this weekend so I gave him the flight number and he says he will pick me up at the airport. Truths and lies, lies and truths. But one thing is for sure and that is, we're both gambling.
I'm gambling with an empty heart. Or am I gambling with an empty heart?
This is me, putting my heart on my sleeve. My life is for rent; it comes unfurnished save for the ghosts that wander through the walls. Sometimes the rain drips down the holes in the roof. But come morning, the sunlight streams in between the blinds, rekindling life.