SUMMER NIGHT

SUMMER NIGHT.


The summer night is warm, stiflingly so. There's more than the summer that's causing the heat. It was there for so long, but never so strong. I pull off all my clothes and sit in front of the mirror looking at it. How the sun burnt skin stood out starkly on the otherwise yellow peel. The rises, the curves, the darkness that came in so slowly, I never noticed it. I stand naked, not judging, not loving, not hating. Just watching. I run a finger on the length of my neck and I know I need him to see me like this. To judge me. I can still feel his fingers somewhere on my shirt. His deep river voice accompanied by the stale smoke smell. An accident. Sweet one, I wanted to feel it again. Here. I run a finger on my breast and feel it go hard. It hadn't happened in a long time- not after I stopped swimming in winter- never by the thought of a man. I wonder what he would think of it. Maybe he would give me the stupid-kid laugh or, or, or…I don't know. I don't want to know. This gets too infatuated-teenage-girl for me, so I climb onto the windowsill still naked, half hoping someone would see me. There's a man staring from the next building. I look in that direction and raise my hand. He shuts the window and turns off the lights. I laugh but stop midway, someone once told waking up to madness was his greatest fear, that he had seen his schizophrenic father do that and he was half-sure schizophrenia is hereditary. I thought it was foolish then, now, it gave me Goosebumps. A lady once told me madness was behind a thin line and you could see it but never find a difference till you saw someone on the other side. My nose feels sticky so I wipe it to see a drop of sticky blood- a warning that I need to put on something. I wipe it away and have a glass of water. Still thinking of the deep river fantasy, I lie dressed, waiting for a sunrise or sleep. Whichever comes first.