Have you been keeping track? The amount of times I find my gaze has been drawn to you, then lingers. I haven’t, but I know it’s some amount that’s too many. Sometimes, I think you might have figured it out before I did.
I still remember how good the heat of the setting summer sun felt as it fell warmly onto our faces, deciding to come out from behind the clouds as if to spotlight a good thing when it sees it. The summer had emboldened me, along with those seltzers and sangria and cider. The words fell from my lips too fast for me to decide if they were meant for your ears. I was afraid you would run. And yet you stayed, and spoke fondly of you past loves: a girlfriend, a mother. How both ended. We fell into step together, and I spoke to life truths I had been lying about for a long time. I pulled back the curtain for you, just a bit. Enough for a spark to catch. But I didn’t believe it would last long. So I pretended to forget.
And yet I still remember how good the heat of your palm felt when you placed it against the gentle dip of my back, cradled it like one would a baby’s neck, and softly eased me away from the dancing man who got a little too close. Pulled me towards you. You had caught me off guard, so I stumbled a bit. Instinctively, I reached out to catch myself and found your arm, the one adorned with roses. You had mentioned earlier that they meant something. My mind went to your mother when my fingertips grazed the etchings on your skin, wondering if roses were her favorite flower. I tried not to get lost in that wonder, even though I wanted to try to read between the lines, searching for another page of your story to consume. The music was vibrant and pulsing, and there were dancing bodies all around us threatening to crush. Every time, without fail, you and your palm were my guides. I longed for you to press my body into yours. But you only hovered. It angered me. So I pretended to forget.
And yet I still remember how good the heat of your fingers felt when you reached for mine, interlaced them, and pulled me towards the bar. What did we talk about? Were there any words exchanged between us at all? I couldn’t tell - I was too distracted by the comforting haze of drunkenness that allowed me to live in that moment with you. What I do know about is your eyes. Your eyes were entirely dangerous the way they stared. They were trying to communicate to mine in a way that words couldn’t. They were pleading with me, or searching for something. They were dark and steadfast. And primal. For the first time since meeting you, I felt fear. I was afraid to confront your truth, the one you also refused to speak to life. You wanted to continue into the night. Lured me with promises of pizza and continued fun. I recalled whispers from a little bird who revealed your sadness at my labored indifference. There was a small, sharp pain in my chest when I learned of your quiet suffering, and I didn’t like it. So I pretended to forget.
And yet I still remember how good the heat of your lips felt when they - finally - met mine.
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
janainaart
areudirty
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