As I lay on my warm bed, my skin feeling sticky and sweaty, I exasperated. The hot air blowing from the fan brushes on my hair and face. The gentle droning of the fan is slowly lulling me to a deep slumber.
Somehow, the empty space beside me just feels so enormous. I felt longing and yearning, but there was no one. You were never there.
My skin prickles with something more than just yearning. My hands tried to mimic yours. It moved over my ticklish places; the ones that you love touching and kissing. I've always liked how my skin feels slippery after you kissed them.
I hugged my pillow as tightly as I can. The heat was getting more intense. My heart was racing and I was panting. I closed my eyes and imagined you were here, caressing my pale, sweaty and silky skin.
My groin felt ticklish and numb while I was lucidly dreaming about you. I felt my hands slipping and stroking. I was giving in.
My lips were as dry as the Gobi. I wet them while moaning. If only you could see how sad this scene was. These were the scenes that we were supposed to be doing together. You could see and feel how I miss you; how I lust for you.
I was burning against the orange-tinged sunset behind my window. I should always maintain my silent dignity, for it is the only thing that is left with me. I will wait, but I can't wait forever. Take me home, take me somewhere. I wanna to be with you.
And when the deed was done, I lay there wet and limp like a lily.
These are the languid vestiges of my sultry and lonely afternoons.