Originally posted on Anca Dunavete // IMAGINARIUM:
Our bodies brushed together. I was pushing myself closer and closer, not because I wanted him but because I didn’t want myself. For a couple of minutes I remembered what it’s like to be young and scared and wanting so badly to give yourself away, because you don’t know what to with all that’s been given to you. You do it with eyes wide shut and a burning desire to never get yourself back. There I was again, trying to negotiate my peace of mind with any stranger — since God, who has, at this point, turned into some sort of business partner (I’ll be a good girl, just please make this and that come true) seemed to have run out of it.
His grip got tighter as the minutes and our acquaintances passed by. His body was cold, his breath smelled of alcohol and mint and his skin, of cologne. My…
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