subjectively reality

 This story came off of a prompt, about fictionalizing something that happened in your life to put a new spin on things.


Coffee and cigarettes, my addictions were strong. Her hand found its way into mine. I smiled a joint hanging from my lower lip. There was something about her. I was addicted to her. She kissed my cloud of smoke as I exhaled. The skunky smell filled the small tent and I could feel it, the energy shifting, the ease gliding into me as I took another hit. 

  One could argue we were crazy, but we weren’t, not crazy just out of our minds. I took a sip of her coffee laughing at its sweet taste. Sickly sweet, just like her lips, like her blushing cheeks.  It was summer then and somehow freezing. A cold day, but I felt pleasantly overheated with her by my side. The tent was always scattered with various bottles of alcohol and pharmaceuticals, inviting bad habits to form. But god, was her smile beautiful. 

I motioned for her cigarette. She placed it in my mouth, her fingers on my lips, as I took a deep drag not wanting skin to leave mine. I loved her warmth, skin always so soft and smooth. I wished I could be her, she had tanned skin, chocolate colored wavy hair, deep set blue eyes,and her body a perfect hourglass.

The closest I could get to being her was being with her, and that was quite alright with me. She asked me once, on a day not much different from that day, if I liked girls. The thought was so simple it made me giggle. 

    “I like people, but not many.”  I thought for a long time while she quietly watched me. “It’s not the gender, I guess, It’s the way a person makes me feel, their personality, I like you though.” I held my breath.

   Her eyes brightened “Dirty indecisive bitch”. I remember relief washing over me. “Now I have to be jealous of all genders for you!”.

   We spent nearly everyday together maybe because of the drugs, maybe because of the oblivion that followed them.  I don’t regret it. I miss the feel of her fingers against my lips as smoke filled my lungs. I miss the smell of coffee and gypsy magic.

  I miss the nights where I could grasp onto her soft curves, even the nights I would push them away because it was too damn hot for contact. I miss the way she would lick my neck playfully, because she knew I hated tongues. But shit did I love her for it anyways. 

   She’s gone now, maybe I’ll see her again, maybe I won’t but its because of her I felt that summer, because of her I don’t remember anything but pure ecstasy. Sometimes I wonder was she real?

-Liliana Jimenez