We are no longer in love. Something I have come to realise since we got sick of each other’s movements and scents. His scent became too familiar that it seemed my nose needed the presence of fresh coffee beans, it’s almost always ridiculous––when I think of it. Guess that’s just the way it is. When reality starts to bite, you will absolutely feel it, and ache for it. I wish I could think of romantic thoughts as I stare at him while he sleeps but hell I couldn’t.
We are no longer in love. But we choose to stay, nonetheless. The honeymoon stage was over, no more spice, no more thrill, no more extra hot scenes, no more remarkable positions to discover. Notwithstanding the death of excitement, I never regret choosing to stay with him. Despite the plateau of cycle under the same roof we’re in, I never thought of leaving him. And in spite of the thousands of fights and arguments and disagreements, I never imagined living life without him. For even if we are no longer in love, it didn’t mean I don’t love him.
He turned around and faced me, still with his eyes closed, he moaned a sensual moan perhaps due to a wet dream. He subconsciously pulled me from my waist, towards him and moaned yet again, in a whisper form this time that triggered some of my buried wild emotions. It’s been a while since he held me this close. Though his scent, like I said, was too familiar, the warmth of his breath was quite tantalising. The lines on his face was too vivid, being only a few inches away from his face, yet it made me smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I looked at him the way I am looking at him now. He’s still looking good, after all these years of a rollercoaster of marriage.
I wanted to kiss him. I wonder how those dry lips taste and if it will bring back nostalgic memories in my head. I have forgotten how his kisses taste but never the way they made me feel. It would only take me half a second to do it, but I stopped myself from doing so. The idea of it makes me overthink––what if he awakes and find it disgusting? We’re old and ageing. Like I told you, being married for so long was to blame for the absence of spice and thrill. What if the way I look at him now and the way he used to look at me when we were younger, was something he has already forgotten?
He moved his hand down from my waist to my hips and then stopped in my legs. He leaned a bit closer that the tip of his nose touched mine, I got a little claustrophobic. I got trapped in his dreamy self with no space to breathe but I didn’t want to leave. Guess his body’s telling to stop overthinking and just do it.
And so I did. I kissed him and put his hand in between my legs and closed my eyes. I began feeling his fingers gently penetrating me, bringing old hot memories back to life. I felt embarrassed with the roughness of my skin and the saggy baggy belly I carry with me but he owned me anyway. He owned me, touched me, and felt my bones crack in play. With his eyes open, he made love to me as tears start rolling down my face. We are no longer in love, but love still remained.