We spent a weekend together.
I was who you wanted and
you were who I wanted.
But it wasn’t real.
There was an overwhelming feeling of desire and lust that I couldn’t get rid of. You took care of that. And I took care of you. But I didn’t account for staying over in your bed, your arms wrapped around like a monkey, and your fingers in my tangled curls. Or the whispers of planned trips to Balboa Park or to your favorite Italian restaurant.
Falling into bed with you was never the problem. But the possibility of falling for you will always be a problem for me.
We spent a weekend together.
We had sex. We ran errands, went for a hike, drank wine, and read books. Had more sex. Made dinner. Took a shower together. More sex.
I slept in your arms and you slept in mine.
We spent a weekend together.
I was who you wanted and
you were who I wanted.
And I ignore the lingered touches, the forehead kisses. And I ignored the burning touch of your hand still on my waist when you grabbed me, showing to the man that was flirting with me that I would be going home with you, and not him.
We spent a weekend together.
But it wasn’t real.
Photo by Omid Armin on Unsplash
Krystal Beatriz Galvis
Krystal Beatriz Galvis, born and raised in San Diego, California, is a writer fascinated with magic, fantasy, and darkness. She is a MFA graduate student at San Diego State University studying creative writing. Outside from writing short stories, she researches any Latinx fables or myths and writes small poems on her Instagram page under the hashtag #krystalg.
Congratulations on getting published. I enjoyed this piece. There are a lot of raw emotions.