C i t r i n e


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She stared at him wide-eyed from across the room, slumped into a corner as he stared blankly into his computer screen, focused on whatever it happened that he was doing. The house was silent except the slight hushed arguments from distant rooms and the whir of automobiles from the outside world. So silent, she could almost hear her own heartbeat, and possibly, maybe even his. She cocked her head and continued analyzing every part of his body, every feature and flaw that made him, himself. The Television twitched with static, and a yellow tint of light filtered through the small room. The Bed in the middle was mishap and unmade, sheets pulling off the corners and pillows tilted in an un-organized matter. He turned slightly and glanced at her, which he did rarely, but this time it was as if he actually cared somewhat. He patted his hand onto his thigh and motioned slowly to sit on his lap. she got up from where she sat to do so. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly. They stared into each other’s eyes as the humidity seemed to rise, his brown eyes glistening yellow, his skin dewy and tan as if he had just layed out in the Florida sunlight. She ran her fingers slowly through his soft short dirty blonde hair, spiking upwards at the tips, as he smiled slightly and chuckled. His breath smelled like liquor and his body, citrine.

 

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