Fatigue

Rubbing my eyes in fatigue at the hands of an alcohol-fueled all-nighter, my mind drifts back to her once more. She lays beside me now, on the cold wood floor of his house. Images of them dance around my mind. I shake them away to think of only her, her slender frame as she danced to her own rhythm, ignorant of the blaring music. The scent of her flowing hair as it became infused with the pungent smell of cannabis and tobacco. The matt-silk feel of it as I held it for her whilst she heaved into the toilet bowl. Eyes open slightly wider now, I admire her angelic complexion and panda eyes. I ignore his haughty, beautiful frame as he lays beside her, long arms entwined around her small waist, fingers resting on her toned torso where her dress has ridden up overnight. Nobody else has woken, so I ignore my dry throat and lay down again, as close to her face as I can be without waking her. I brush a lock of brunette hair from where it has fallen across her forehead, and breathe in the scent of her sweet skin, almost indistinguishable from the infusions of sweat, drugs and beer. And I wait for her to stir and find me here, waiting for her.