The world has always looked different with him in it. When she saw him walking up the stairs, when she looked up from the text he’d just sent – I got lost. Bloody Melbourne alleyways! But I think I’m at the right place. Up on the roof, yeah? – and their eyes met, it was that same sudden, silver glow. Clouds moving away from the sun, and every particle of light directed at her.
She forgot, for a second, how to breathe.
(By the time she’s finished her third wine she’s taken to tilting her glass at him whenever she makes a point or declaration, flirting over her nervousness, drinking it away)
It’s that kind of morning, yeah 😉
“Speak the words you have swallowed. We have – – years of silence to fill. Let us crowd this night with all we have not said, let us cover every last second with our secrets. Whisper them soft and sure against my skin. Tell me goodbye, and tell me why.
Dust me for your fingerprints one last time, hold me up to the light, and see yourself all over. Know that you were here. Here we are. Grasp at what we will leave behind. What we are losing. There are ways for us to end this.
Love me just enough. Then let me go. Hold tight all through these midnight hours, then stand up, be brave. And watch. me. walk. away.”
My darling, there are ways for us to end this.
Good god. She went so far as to tell you what to do. You have always done what you are told to do. How could you not even give her that …
I’ve never been one for belief. Preferring, since I first found words, the question. But you suggest an answer now. Something permanent and waiting. As if there might be gods and fates whispering, a place and time of return.
I would know you anywhere. In a room filled, or across vast, empty spaces. Even when I’m not looking for- … I somehow seek to find you.
Perhaps. Perhaps. We are indeed part of something greater. An entire universe found in our kiss hello. Sliding lips remembering. The familiar that comes from knowing.
(Perhaps I’ve lost my goddamn mind.)
There is always the first time someone lets you down.
Always the first wound, and even if they tend to that wound after, even if they do everything to make up for what they inflicted, it’s hard not to hold on to that very first time. The first time you were a bright spark of hope, and the person who lit you up looked at your light, and asked you to lay down your torch.
There is always the first wound. It remains where it formed; it remains locked deep under the skin. Scar tissue is never as supple as that which it replaces.
(How hard it is to undo our mind once we believe something to be true. Once we’ve committed to an idea. Even when it’s the most damaged idea we’ve ever had).
You will always remind this girl of salt and tears.
In times to come. When her body remembers.
(Her body always remembers you)