It’s Sunday morning
The calender says so
For all I know
Days don’t have names anymore
I watch my legs move forward
And backwards
My feet clumsily doing what feet do
I get him to move his arms
Just to see if they’re still working
I crack his fingers
The sound is pleasant to me
But he cringes
While climbing the stairs
I pass a mirror
There’s someone else there, not me
I look behind myself
There’s no one
Aside from the many lists
Of employees of the month
How is this possible
He copies my every movement
We walk closer to eachother, hesitating
But back off suddenly
We stare at eachother for the longest time
Both of us seemingly waiting for the other to say something
I ask him if he has a name
He flaps his lips open and shut but there’s no sound
I ask him again
Still, nothing
I decide to waste no more time
I have work soon
I walk on
Without a glance back
I watch myself scan items at a till
He’s blurting out polite jibberish again
The customers soak it up like butter on a crumpet
Day in day out
The same music
The same lyrics
How does he do it?
“Another day, another dollar”
He repeats like a mantra
I tire of it
And think of her
Soft, milky white skin
That you could sink your teeth in to
Her hips, wide
My hands glued to them
Her eyes locked on mine
Seductive
I’m in between her thighs
She slowly slips it in
Moaning
And he’s still scanning items
What an idiot
Great stuff. *smiles*
– Esme upon the Cloud
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Thank you, Esme!
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I second that, pointe sharp as always 👌
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