The Hotel Bed

I didn’t care the room reeked of stale cigarette smoke, or that the fixtures had weird stains on them from age or otherwise. The firm mattress with a blanket that attempted to be a comforter wasn’t an issue or the soap that fell apart so easily when it hit water, leaving behind a slimy residue that refused to rinse off or its failed effort to hold the scent of cucumber melon. None of it mattered.

The loud hum of the air conditioner that failed to keep up with the building body heat between us, the shitty view from the balcony that may have not been up to code or the lack of towel hooks in the bathroom were merely minor inconveniences I paid no mind to. It didn’t matter because something bigger was happening that made that room feel insignificant.

It was you, it was me, it was us.

Your embrace that made me feel safe, loved, and giddy was the only thing I needed. My head on your chest as I was nodding in and out of consciousness, and you, using your one free arm to play the Friday crossword was a perfect moment. Two lovers on a hotel bed, forgetting the horrors of the world for a moment, and experiencing joy in being in each other’s company. What’s better than that? What’s better than us?