By JP
Malig
I'M
on a bus two thousand miles from anywhere I've ever known, it's raining and you
are entering my mind. My hand absently runs through my hair, but for a moment
it's not mine it's yours. That tiny hand, as it twined with the snarls and the
smell that was distinctly me. Your smile, and the lack of a single word spoken.
My
touch suddenly turns gentle, more so than I would have thought possible, and the
effortless tug on my hand as you pulled me closer to you. Or at least it did.
Bump.
Just
like a bump in the road, rocks like these snap our realities back. I miss you.
Seeing you free, and happy and knowing yourself more warms me though. Don't ask
me how these conflicting emotions could exist at the same time inside of me. I
can't even tell myself.
Thunder.
You
found a woman, like yourself, and it is her touch you now share. There are times
I wonder. How does she touch you? Does she kiss your closed eyelids, or just
hold you as you sleep? It's not a perversion that creates this wonder in me.
It's awe. Does she bring to you the things I tried to? The things I never could?
And
that's my question tonight. Perhaps I'm being superficial, or looking onward
into the present-past pondering things left behind. Doors closed to me. I
thought for a moment about the woman that now shares your life. I close my eyes
and try to look at you through hers. I'm looking into your eyes and drinking in
that soft look of pure confusion in you, saying wordlessly what we both knew
then...
"I
don't know how I feel, but right now I love you."
Now I
can't see you anymore. The eyes close and the touch fades. I'm laughing at
myself now wondering why I'm prying into you. You who closed a door to me, only
to leave me looking in the peephole hoping to find a smile.
Is it
my insecurity? Perhaps my nature to explore things that I can't comprehend? And
it's not hate or anger - It's a wish of things impossible; the constant cry of
my mind wondering what I did wrong in a scoreless and unregulated game of
chance.
What
would you say right now? Here I sit, as if you were next to me.
What
would I say if I was bold enough to speak? "What was it about me? Why me and why
them and now why her?"
I
smile knowing your blank look and vague answers hidden behind a textbook world of safety. Me, the
"Educational Experience" ... passing a semester of touch. A smile across my lips
long enough to remember the good from the bad of our venture.
Thunder.
Right
now the issues of who was right, who was wrong and who hurt who are long since
past. I no longer cling to memories of days when words were pointless, and
communication was a touch. How my touch went from a silent kiss, to
"meaningless."
Can I
tell you now? Can I say why I always left you that way? A finger touching tip to
tip until only the slightest part remained in contact. I hated leaving you, and
that was how I said it. I loved your touch, your warmth and you. Why did I never
tell you this? I feared that you would not understand, or be confused into
misinterpretation. Fear, like that last night before I left. We talked. I took
your hand in mine. We held each other.
"You're
shaking."
I
was.