The blades of the ceiling fan moved the humid air slowly around us. She was asleep on top of me. Her face was warm against my neck, as warm as the air that stuck against all of our exposed skin. I could feel our sweat mingling. Somehow the thin linen sheet that was tangled around us managed to remain cooler than the air.
My hand rested on her back. Her forehead was covered with small beads of sweat. Her breasts rested just below mine, the two of us pressed skin to skin, the softness of our bodies melded into each other. The heat made it slightly uncomfortable and it didn’t matter.
I didn’t know how we came to that room. At that moment it felt like we had always been there; there was no before, no after. Both were blurry to me.
We didn’t complain about the heat because the room was ours, we were ours. “After” was happening, moment after moment. One moment after the next, we hurtled into the future.
I sipped tepid water from the glass on the nightstand. I kissed her fragile eyelids. I slipped into the stillness of her and slept.