July 19, 2012
Hot days

complexifiedequilibrium:

handheartlines:

Because, in tropical countries, you imbibe the heat into your bones. You feel the heavy want in the air. That’s why all these places are overpopulated.

And you fan yourself lightly with a thick piece of paper, or a flyer you got from a person giving it out at the train station. But that isn’t enough. The only logical illogical thing to do is to add more heat and then, the release.

So you call him up. “Come over,” you whisper in a tone that tells him you can’t take it and you want deliverance now. 

He knocks on your door, sweaty from climbing up five flights of stairs to get to your floor. It doesn’t matter because once you twist the knob, there are only all blurred sequences of grabbing and pulling. With a firm clasp on his neck, you pull him and you are lips to lips, tongue to tongue.

“Aren’t your parents around?” he asks, the courteous boy inside of him, the one ingrained with proper etiquette, still feels the need to be liked by your mom and dad. 

You shake your head no. “Of course not,” you say, impatient, wanting and needing. Briefly, you wonder if your parents are home. You never bothered to really check. 

Inside your room, you don’t waste time. What for? This isn’t the first time he’s been there and this isn’t the time of a fucking tour. 

You slide into the bed and though he kisses you up your jaw as you busily unbutton his shirt, he looks at your pillows and the array of little fluffy toys watching this little escapade with beady, unseeing eyes. 

Following his perturbed gaze, you grin and catch his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling lightly. “Ready for a little exhibition?” 

He chuckles and the sound vibrates from his chest to yours. A little heart to heart never hurts. 

This is the easy part. No words, no soulful connection you need to share with your best friends the next day. Pure physical satiation. No need to feel bad about needing. 

Your hands are all over each other. You trace the line between his abs, down, down down. He starts to call on the Almighty. And you want to pause and tell him, “I’m glad I’ve turned you into a believer.” You’re too busy being pleasured by pleasuring, though, and it would just take things where you don’t want to go. You just grin, triumphant as he groans. He catches that and returns the favour, in your terms of want. He has you arching your back to his touch. It’s his turn to grin, triumphant. 

But his hands travel lower. He latches onto the button of your pants and with as much steadiness a man on top of a woman on a heated day can muster, he starts his attempt to unbutton and explore.

The alarm in your head goes off. You slap his hand away and sit up. You head for your boudoir and spray on a toner mist over your flushed face. You hear him groan and complain in the manliest way possible but you continue brushing your hair.

“That’s it?” he demands.

“Yup. Pretty much,” you reply. 

You look at his reflection in the mirror. He’s glaring, looking hot and frustrated. So you turn toward him and your lashes flutter coyly.

“I have my period today, sorry baby,” there is no tinge of apologetic sincerity in your tone. 

He stands up, buttons up his shirt and before he leaves, bites out, “Fuck you!” and he sounds like he doesn’t really mean it, just in case you change your mind.

“I’ll fuck you too, just not today.” In hot days, all you need is the tease. Little miss proper can only play the mind games in the afternoons because come supper time, she’s the good girl again.

Guia Galvez

For Dianne. Because of this post.

DID YOU KNOW HOW MUCH TROUBLE I HAD TO GO THROUGH TO OPEN THE AIR CONDITIONING SYSTEM ONLY TO BE LEFT HOT AND BOTHERED AND GIGGLING SO HARD OVER THIS BEAUTIFUL STORY.

I WANT THIS TO BE UNDER NON-FICTION. BECAUSE MY BOYFRAN IS MAX HOUSER. I GOT SOME ACTION, FINALLY!

It scares me because I might actually do this. Like. I might probably lock him up in my room and just tease him over and over but never give in because HAHAHA FUCK YOU LOL NO. PERIOD TIIIIIIME.

DOWN. DOWN. DOWN. DOOOOOOOOWN. I ‘LDKNVLSDKVN AND THAT LOWER LIP BITE. DEAR GOD. I WOULD SO DO THAT. ALL OF IT. YES. YES.

“I’ll fuck you too, just not today.”  IS PERFECT. :(( THIS IS PERFECT. WONDERFUL. I SHIP ME AND MAX HOUSER.

Let me summarize this story for you:

YEP.

Gawd. I’d get a boyfriend and make him read this and re-enact this with him. I’D MAKE HIM THINK THAT WE’D ACTUALLY DO AN ALTERNATE ENDING AND REALLY HAVE SEX BUT NOOOOO MWAHAHAHA AND I WOULD HAVE THE SAME ‘FUCK YOU’ CONVERSATION.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

This was worth making just for that comment and that priceless - PRICELESS - GIF. Lucky boyfriend is still lucky though!

He’ll be locked up in a room.

(via waitingfortheseventhwave)

9:14pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z9qKOyPgEIVC
(Notes: 12)
  
Filed under: complexifiedequilibrium tease prose lit original story 
July 19, 2012
Riding in cars with a boy

handheartlines:

And I hoped that it would begin with those car rides.

“Hey,” he would say, passing me as I walked by. His car window would slide down fully. He would lean to reach for his car door and open it for me.

I would smile, tell him lightly that he doesn’t have to do this, but mean none of my words.

Read More

9:18am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z9qKOyPeS43P
(Notes: 10)
  
Filed under: prose original original story lit guia galvez gianinathehuman theicarustheory love would could if only what if what ifs failed love stars night the xx the XX 
July 17, 2012
Riding in cars with a boy

handheartlines:

And I had hoped that it would begin with those car rides.

“Hey,” he would say, passing me as I walked by. His car window would slide down fully. He would lean to reach for his car door and open it for me.

I would smile, tell him lightly that he doesn’t have to do this, but mean none of my words.

Read More

From my writing blog.

8:40am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z9qKOyPVOWot
(Notes: 10)
  
Filed under: prose original original story lit guia galvez gianinathehuman theicarustheory love would could if only what if what ifs failed love stars night the xx the XX 
June 27, 2012
Heartlines

It’s instinctive. I know it is as I reach for my phone and dial his number. He picks up on the third ring. His voice is morose but steady.

“Hello?” Uncertainty marks his voice.

“It’s me,” I murmur and there is no need for introductions. “I’m here for you.”

And I listen to him. There is no need for pretense. No lies of “I’m fine”, or “I’m okay”. We crumble into the same desperate heap, needing so much warmth. There is something comforting about being connected to someone thousands of miles away, sharing the same sense of loneliness.

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(Source: guiastar)

8:58pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z9qKOyODZHA8
(Notes: 7)
  
Filed under: heartlines heart florence and the machine short short story lit love heartbreak faith guia galvez original story blory 
June 23, 2012
A brief game of hide and seek

Girl was feeling lonely during the quaint get-together. Party thrown right beside campus for college paper writers to mingle. She was realizing that most of the faces in the room were that of strangers. Didn’t know much people now that she’s graduated and she and her friends been replaced by newbies with the same dreams.

So girl just sat between two unknowns. The two were determined to have a conversation despite girl’s physical interruption. Her big bright eyes flicked through people and spaces and corners, seeing and taking it all in. Of course she’d see boy. Hard not to with that height. You don’t get height like that often in this place. You’re tall when you’re five-eight. But boy was six feet tall and yeah she was looking up at him from her five-two.

Few moments later, they were all mingling. Girl felt awkward and uncomfortable, suddenly out of her element. She was used to small gatherings with intimate friends. Not with people who insist on talking about inside jokes that intentionally left others out.

So it was nice when boy who seemed to search for people he knew too, parked himself right beside her and stayed there. He had his elbow propped on the bar’s counter and he offered her a small smile. “You’re in the Sports section,” he recognized and that was the beginning.

Girl nodded and laughed. You have to laugh at those little things. Have to make the boy think he’s got some humour. And maybe, just maybe, he’d actually have some. They were talking about lots of things college paper writers do. Books, quirky hobbies and during late night social events, how they’re going home.

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11:25pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z9qKOyNyxjan
(Notes: 8)
  
Filed under: guia galvez original story short story lit kathryn carter ballet ballerina love courtship courage night party blory 
June 20, 2012
Heartlines

It’s instinctive. I know it is as I reach for my phone and dial his number. He picks up on the third ring. His voice is morose but steady.

“Hello?” Uncertainty marks his voice.

“It’s me,” I murmur and there is no need for introductions. “I’m here for you.”

And I listen to him. We crumble into the same desperate heap, needing so much warmth. There is something comforting about being connected to someone thousands of miles away, sharing the same sense of loneliness.

“I don’t know what I’m doing any more,” he tells me. There is a pause, an incoming confession that needs to be run with one’s soul before the words are uttered. A deep confusion lying with it and then it comes, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

I do. I’m not sure if I tell him with my voice. But I hear it in my head and my heart. If I had stayed silent, I prayed that our bond was still strong enough that he would know if he lost faith in himself, I still have plenty of faith for both of us.

I remember sitting inside the car with him, a moment not far too long ago. He looks straight towards the trafficking lines of cars, his lips slightly pursed in thought. Cheekbones high and eyes twinkling. I tell him he’s beautiful, so he smiles. You say things you truly mean when you’re young. If you have any doubt as you grow old, it’s your cynicism making you doubt your truth. He meant it when he told me he loved me and he always would.

I never said the words back.

The person I’m talking to right now, he has the same distinct lilting voice as the one I’ve always known. I cradle my phone pressed closest to my ear. I whisper to him, I ask him if he’s eaten, I tell him small stories and he laughs in a tone of relief. Like he’s glad he remembers how to go through the motions of mirth. My heart sinks for my broken man and I absolutely break down and tear up because I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad. I cry because I know he wouldn’t break down, even when he needed a pause, so I do it for him.

We are emotionally damaged fools, who know far too many words, far too versed in prose and poems, but know very little about how the heart works or how to treat the ones we care for with intimate caresses and enveloping warmth.

He doesn’t let himself lay in peace for more than a second. His mind doesn’t let him stop from reliving his darkest moments. And no amount of little nothings I whisper to his ear can chase the demons away.

“I wish you weren’t alone,” I admit. I wanted to tell him, find someone, be with someone. I think of all the people who could love him. Faces make a montage inside my head, flitting through the backs of my lids. Your parents? Away. Your relatives?Busy. Cousins? No. Friends? Well, you’re here right?

He hesitates before he answers. “Me too,” he agrees, swimming in dark deep sadness I can’t quite dive in to reach. I’m afraid to swim again, remembering the sensation of almost completely drowning.

So I tell him truths. Because honesty always comforts him. I tell him short anecdotes and for the time being, he is appeased. And then, the clincher.

“You don’t have to believe everything,” I concede. “Just this one”. Finally, after years of uncertainty and niggling anxiety, I tell him my truest truth: “I love you. That’s the only thing you have to remember. Forget everything else. Forget the abandonment, the longing, the hurts and the fights. Forget the heaping experience of their overall pain. But don’t forget, I’m always going to love you. I’ll always be on your side.”

The penny drops and disbelief - the fastest and most hurtful conclusion – does not come. Instead, there is relief and acceptance.

“I know,” he tells me. “I’ve always believed in that.”

So hold onto it. I say. Because I’m not there. Because you’re not here. We don’t have anyone right now but ourselves and that’s fine. As long as we don’t take someone else’s side. At the end of the day, it’s yourself you’re still going to live with, in the eternity you’re here.

Even before I need to leave, he senses it and announces, “Then I’ll say goodbye now,” because he knows I’m scared of leaving him again. I murmur okay and the line gets cut after a last “I love you”.

And that’s what I’ve always wanted him to hear from me.

by Guia Galvez

I wrote this while listening (sobbing) to Florence + The Machine’s song, Heartlines. And, as a more painful treat, her acoustic version to her song, Breaking Down.

9:31am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z9qKOyNkOES6
(Notes: 7)
  
Filed under: heartlines heart florence and the machine short short story lit love heartbreak faith guia galvez original story 
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