No products in the cart.
I’m trying to catch my breath, my heart beating out of my chest as it rests against his. Our limbs are tangled into one another, the sheets twisted up, covers kicked over the side of the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand, I find the playlist I’m looking for and hit play.
He laughs, but we both understand that every great moment in life deserves its own mixtape full of powerful chords and words.
We’re no longer clinging to one another, but our feet are still dancing. He runs his fingers through my hair, over and over, in an attempt to fix its mess or comfort me, I don’t know. It could be both, but the more I think about it, the more I realize it doesn’t really matter; instead I’ll just sigh at the caress. The speakers play softly, so many soft spoken words and lightly played notes that my fingers draw out against his skin.
In these moments, we whisper confessions – weaknesses, memories, delicately worded poetry that has us feeling more connected than the minutes prior. Sometimes we laugh. His sounds different in these moments, does mine, as well? A few times we might have cried; those are always in the dark, with fingers brushing cheeks. We’re always together, though, breathing the same air, keeping each other warm with our arms around the other. The sheets cool down after some time, the music grows slower, less melodic and more real – like the people are strumming guitars and talking to their own lovers.
Each song that follows grows softer, slower, in whispers of their own voices. We might say “I love you,” we might not. He might turn around, still gripping my hand; I might roll over and huff until he consumes me again. It always ends the same, though: sleep comes and takes us together. The music plays on. As the sweat dries.