New Year 2006
Stuart and I got to know each other better during just five days of my stay. We talked, walked along the river, explored London, kissed, and made love. We laid on the sofa, me on top of Stuart, and were marveled at how the curves of our bodies fit with each others’. My skin around the mouth started to peel and got flaky from too much kissing because of his beard. Stuart joked maybe I was allergic to him.
We watched the New Year’s fireworks on TV. At midnight, sparks shot from the river, the embankment, and even from the capsules of the London Eye. They lit up the entire Westminster-the Thames, the House of Parliament, Big Ben. It was certainly a spectacle. But, then, sometimes they showed the crowd of people looking painfully squashed behind the barricades, their puffy jackets deflated but trying all their might to focus on the most glamorous ten minutes of the new year. I watched them from the comfort of Stuart’s arms and thought, once the smoke of fireworks died out, they’d drag their bodies home, drained of both adrenaline and alcohol-infused high. On this side of the river, I was at the peak of emotional contentment.
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