dishwasher safe

and UV resistant

not another love story

He is fronting west, where his wanderlust has taken him so many times before; and she east, where every morning she watches the sun get out of its wobbly waterbed, sneak up on and break open the bouffant cottony clouds. Though looking out toward opposite directions, they could easily read each other's faces with the slightest of movements, meet half-way and look each other eye-to-eye. How it is possible – and it is – only they know.

Tonight, however, while there’s too much talking, there is virtually no need for a middle ground. Not that they understand each other either. Quite the opposite, in fact. They just keep talking, but their buzzing inner thoughts, their unspoken words are like pebble-sized raindrops on tin roof that drown out each other’s voices, they might as well not talk at all.

And then there was silence. Outward silence, for inside their thoughts keep whirring like white noise from TV after midnight. It’s as if they both decided at that same precise moment to pay full attention to and enjoy the sound of the rain as it drums overhead.

And just then just like that he traces a fingertip along the side of her bare thigh up to her arched knee, his gaze following his finger as it glides gently.

This faint brush of skin to skin brings in her a sensation strong enough to ripple through her body, a feeling warm enough to rouse and ignite her senses.

And. She wakes up and finds him knelt by her side, obscured by the mist in her eyes.

“Good morning,” he says. As his image sharpens she sees a hint of smile on the corner of his lips.

“Morning,” she replies, and notices the thin white fog around them, and the crisp sound of the waters so soothing it makes her want to go back to sleep,

“Borrow your toothpaste?”, and his fingers lightly resting on her knee.

“In the bag. Outside pocket.” She watches him as he turns to reach for the bag, careful not to rock the boat as he gets up.

“Oh, and um,” he glances back at her still lying down, “we don’t have any breakfast. We forgot our food.” A definite mocking smile on his face.

posted by: giuli at 04:51 | link | comments (4) |

to the gold mine

Stately chess pieces; Casper the friendly ghost chasing after a winged –and ghostly- rabbit; a self-absorbed, high-strung, wide-striding t-rex; a smoke ring from God (her most impressive output thus far).

I start for the railings and watch the waters as they try to fill their own canvas. Not much going on there. Just a uniformly chaotic frothing each time the ship blades through the waves. Splash, froth, disperse. Fluffy white on deep blue.

Every now and then tiny ripples appear here or there. Like a slinky pressed down and fanned out to riddling perfection. All but out of the sea’s little spittle – plus maybe a helping of magic.

I roam around the top deck like its mine; survey everything my eyes can ever reach. With squinty eyes and wide awe I admire the calming beauty and brightness around.

Almost absently, I lick my fingers and wipe my sun-kissed cheekbones. I look forward to what the next seven days have for me.

posted by: giuli at 17:22 | link | comments (1) |