I laid in the dark thinking about my next move. All my greatest decisions were made in one of three places: the shower, my car, or in the cozy warmth of my bed. I guess today it would be the latter.
It’s as if seeing my best friend since birth jogged my memory, and I suddenly grew a watermelon sized conscience. Why now, all of a sudden, have I decided that all the choices I’ve made this far were mistakes?
Each mistake had something in common….it’s a four letter word with dire consequences.
Every single boyfriend, lover, friend, father-they made me choose. They made me choose between my true self and a fake persona. I hate to admit the latter is more often true than not.
But tonight I kept thinking about Him, with a capital H. The Him that all my friends never named and my mother tried her best to forget. He was the one that made me question everything. He’s why I’m here now, laying in bed, wondering who I am at all.
I guess 22 is really half a mid-life crisis.
Him, the almond colored skin, the no middle name, that pert little nose, and large grasping hands.
I remember the night out on the bridge when he lifted my shirt and buried his hands in my skin while I made sounds unfamiliar to my own ears.
…But I couldn’t think of that now. It was a long time ago. He was the worst mistake I ever made.
Then why couldn’t I let it go? Why couldn’t I let that bastard of a love story die.
But those eyes, his eyes. The ones that buried in your soul and asked to stay forever…they were ingrained in my subconscious.
Who am I kidding? He will be with me until I’m blue in the face, cold in the limbs, and warm in the heart.
I reached over and grabbed my phone without thinking….maybe just one text message. Then he will remember me…he will have my name on his lips…he will claim I’m the one that “got away”…you know, all that old cheesy stuff you wish he would say.
And so I texted, “Hi”. Simple. Sweet. To the point.
I wait for a reply and find it quite ironic that our relationship was much of this-me initiating and waiting for his love in return.
My phone pings and pulls me out of my reverie. I look at the screen, “Hi, it’s been a while since I heard from you.”
Just like that I’m pulled in again, crashing against the waves…waiting for a chance to breathe.
Why does this happen? We are two people. We felt that hot streak, that passion…the flame. But now I’m here, at this crossroads standing alone. I’m staring at your blurry figure, masked by the dust. I don’t know what happened to the whispered forevers and wet kisses beneath the covers. You were the…
Why does this happen? We are two people. We felt that hot streak, that passion…the flame. But now I’m here, at this crossroads standing alone. I’m staring at your blurry figure, masked by the dust. I don’t know what happened to the whispered forevers and wet kisses beneath the covers. You were the different one. But after all this time, was I just seeing a mirage?
Were you really a fantasy?
I’m here, standing at the crossroads, looking at you through the dust. Will you grasp my hand and pull me towards your side?
Laying under the covers and I see your sleeping form. Your face is so peaceful, so at rest. I slip my hand into yours and you don’t even move a muscle. Can it be that I will be looking at you, just like this, in a year…two…ten…fifty? Your hair is mussed and your lips are slightly parted. The scent of you cascades off my pillows. I brush my fingers against your knuckles and your eyelids flicker. I hope you are having dreams about me, about us. In that moment, all that matters is your sleeping form, and that I couldn’t imagine being with any other person in the world.
Gentle last kiss as we say our goodbyes-until tomorrow. But tomorrow is my last day with you. And I’m convinced you are right. Actually, convinced is a bad word. Instead, I’ll say I know you’re just right. Somehow you told me you’d love to get the chance of seeing my wrinkles and gray hair when I’m sixty, and I had the urge to run. But that’s why it’s different…
I run towards you.
It’s raining, and I think think this is supposed to be a good sign. I hollowed out the place next to me, where you sleep. But you’re not here. The rain is. So I just lay here and watch the shadows dancing through my window as a soft breeze caresses my cheek. That could’ve been your hand. So I’m left here, thinking the rain is a good sign, when nothing seems good in me. Or you.
Crumbs in my bed, I see. I shake them off, wipe it down. I’m expecting you. So I look at the mirror, at that face, and only I can see the need there. There’s that basic need for love and acceptance. And it’s in the pupils, the iris, and the emotion that passes through. The only way I know how to…
You are the kiss of sun on my alabaster back and the presence of rain on a warm day.
I can feel you.
You are the painting breeze that brushes the hollow of my neck.
I can feel you.
You are the laughter in a room full of long lost friends that wish to keep this moment forever.
I can feel…
The muffled heartbeat rings in my ears. It reminds me that I’m home. It whispers that I’m still alive. It gently prods me to keep moving step by step. Yet somehow, I don’t listen. I lay in the sorrow that astounds me. I thought I’d run far enough. Yet here it is cat-calling to me once again. I…