Matryoshka69’s Weblog

 We pretended to be reckless that night, wanting to feel emotions as enormous and sweeping as tides crashing over us and sweeping us along our way. So there we were, trodding along over the Williamsburg bridge with a bottle of Francis Ford Coppola Estate’s finest wine sloshing over our hands at the same rate that we managed to drink it. Our mouths were as red from the wine as they were from kissing. Actually, “kissing” doesn’t quite fit here- it makes me think of nervous teenagers trying to connect with each other through a mess of frustrated sexual desire clashing against learned constraint. We knew exactly what we were doing, and our lips glided over each other in an act of lovemaking much more intimate than sex. The whole night was a careful balance of fun, abandon and the most careful handling of each other’s emotions. My head was spinning so fast that I could almost keep up with the movement of the city lights downstairs, cars indistinguishable from boats and streetlights and people. The water was perfectly patterned with blacks, blues, and the reflection of a thousand more man-made lights burning just as bright as the stars can. The bridge seemed to shake with me. The only still thing was the soft white face in front of me. I’d never been more in love with life.