I hear the tip-tapping of the keyboard. In the distance, a plane engine growls.
I hear the jingle-jangle of dog tags as I shift my weight.
I hear the music of your laughter.
I hear the pen scratching on paper, as you elegantly move through time and space in an alternate universe. You’re a writer, so you’re here but not here, drifting into a different world crafted by each swish of your pen.
I hear the low buzz of the computer as it waits on you.
I hear the crinkling of paper. I see the ball of white crumpled beside you before it moves through the air and hits me squarely on the nose.
“It’s not right,” you say with a frustrated growl.
I hear you shuffle towards the desk, hands searching for more paper, more fuel to appease the fire of your fury and unravel your fantasy.
I hear you settle back into your seat on the bed, paper rustling in hand, while I dangle upside down on the edge.
I hear silence followed swiftly by a giggle – you’re looking over and wondering out loud what the fuck I am doing in this absurd position.
Before I can move or react, a kiss lands roughly on my neck.
I hear my heart skip a beat.