Today, I was cleaning out the closet. Behind the usual pile of humdrum episodes, I found hanging in a corner, wrapped in muslin cloth, our memories. Yes, the ones we'd woven together. It had been years, but the hauntingly beautiful sensations still cloaked it. The way you looked at me. The way I left. The warmth in my stomach.
I felt it, in that moment. The dull ache in my heart that no amount of antacid seemed to remedy. The lump in my throat and the emptiness of my hands. I reached out and unwrapped those sensations, my fingers trembling as they touched the raw happiness that ran through them. Your hands entwined with mine, your heartbeat steady below my palm, your eyes on mine. It was all there.
I still remember the day I met you. A chance occurrence. Never in a million years would I have turned around and placed my heart in your hands. You were nothing like the man of my dreams. You were tall, too tall. You were difficult to read, and I wanted honesty. You were undependable at a time when all I needed was home. Why would I ever turn around? But I did. I did again and again, until I began turning only so that I could see you again.
I withdraw my fingers from the cloth. A thin invisible cut runs through my palm. It's almost like a paper cut, but it hurts a lot worse. I head to the kitchen to make some coffee and bread. Why leave my heart and stomach both hurting? I look at the toaster, the inferno, and the sweat scent of cinnamon covered french toasts hits my nostril.
You always did promise me breakfasts. For a boy who claimed to make the world's best french toasts, I sure did go a lot of mornings without any food at all. You stocked nothing in your fridge, nothing in your shelves, but then again, as long as you were there I couldn't care less.
All I got was some popcorn once. It wasn't salted. It was plain, simple, much like our love affair. But sometimes I wonder whether all we had needed was some drama? Would you have stuck around if I had created a few alternate personalities? Would you have fought for either of them? Or would they all have been left, as lonely as me, watching time and love pass them by?
Maybe I should have. In these coffee-for-one moments, some company would have been good. Without them here, my needless whispering confuses people. My single spoon, single fork and single heartbeat can't keep the cold out.
I look at my reflection in the clear glass of my kitchen window. There's a face there I don't recognise. There's no smile playing on those lips, no ideas mischievously dancing in those eyes. There's just a face. The girl staring back at me, she's just two eyes, a nose and a mouth. Nothing more, nothing less.
I felt it, in that moment. The dull ache in my heart that no amount of antacid seemed to remedy. The lump in my throat and the emptiness of my hands. I reached out and unwrapped those sensations, my fingers trembling as they touched the raw happiness that ran through them. Your hands entwined with mine, your heartbeat steady below my palm, your eyes on mine. It was all there.
I still remember the day I met you. A chance occurrence. Never in a million years would I have turned around and placed my heart in your hands. You were nothing like the man of my dreams. You were tall, too tall. You were difficult to read, and I wanted honesty. You were undependable at a time when all I needed was home. Why would I ever turn around? But I did. I did again and again, until I began turning only so that I could see you again.
I withdraw my fingers from the cloth. A thin invisible cut runs through my palm. It's almost like a paper cut, but it hurts a lot worse. I head to the kitchen to make some coffee and bread. Why leave my heart and stomach both hurting? I look at the toaster, the inferno, and the sweat scent of cinnamon covered french toasts hits my nostril.
You always did promise me breakfasts. For a boy who claimed to make the world's best french toasts, I sure did go a lot of mornings without any food at all. You stocked nothing in your fridge, nothing in your shelves, but then again, as long as you were there I couldn't care less.
All I got was some popcorn once. It wasn't salted. It was plain, simple, much like our love affair. But sometimes I wonder whether all we had needed was some drama? Would you have stuck around if I had created a few alternate personalities? Would you have fought for either of them? Or would they all have been left, as lonely as me, watching time and love pass them by?
Maybe I should have. In these coffee-for-one moments, some company would have been good. Without them here, my needless whispering confuses people. My single spoon, single fork and single heartbeat can't keep the cold out.
I look at my reflection in the clear glass of my kitchen window. There's a face there I don't recognise. There's no smile playing on those lips, no ideas mischievously dancing in those eyes. There's just a face. The girl staring back at me, she's just two eyes, a nose and a mouth. Nothing more, nothing less.
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