Birds of a feather

Sitting there in my living room, sprawled out in the arm chair, him strumming my harp. The glass of iced tea on the side table would leave a stain on the wood. It was hot, but not too hot. There was nothing to do in here but laze around. Laze around and play with the harp. I didn't care that my dress was hitched up too high (I knew it wasn't really appropriate) But for a moment I felt like I was allowed a glimpse into an alternate world; this is how we would have been. Comfortable enough to be slouched over the chair in an unattractive position, intimate enough that I would have felt no shame in showing so much skin. But bored. Unfulfilled. Slightly annoyed. We were just a novelty. Maybe at some point we created something worthwhile, but we don't belong together, really. He wished he was with someone else last night. And so did I.