Evening

We didn’t need dialogue…we had faces.

If I got to say it the way I wanted to, it would run through the trees.  It would probably flitter away halfway through and never get to your ears.  Not out of malice, just out of the curiosity of the wind drawing it down on some adventure that I will never be privy to.

If the conversation began at all, much less went as I hoped, it would be gilt in silver and would illuminate a secret message that is only visible in moonlight.  It would dance under its own power.  It would wear a gauzy, translucent gown with a daringly long train.  It would be beautiful to such a degree that to look upon it would cause a mystical sort of pain to the back of your inner eye.

It would be the uncatchable fish.  It would come adorned in such feathery words, it could be stripped for a thousand boas.  It would slink, a panther, foot by foot, in and around all the maybes and possibilities and stare you right down the middle so you might tip backwards from the force of it.

Instead, you’ve caught me on the backfoot, I’ve been knocked flat.  You have left me questioning my questioning.

THe conversation never began and yet it was had.  It was done in a moment.  A retraction of claw, of personal consequence, of whatever solar power has illuminated our shared heart for months upon months.

Centered.  Organized.  He needs time.  And that time may well be an overnight of silence.  It may be two days, three, a week.  Or it may be this great big swathe of time where the freedom I’ve sought has entailed him running headlong in the other direction from me.  And it breaks my heart.

Because I wanted to hear something about us.   Even just to be outright damned, you know, it could never be.  One of us will never move to be with the other.  My heart is still healing from pains past.   I just no longer love you.  If I loved you before which you are likely to believe given that’s what I told you when I stared at you as you delightedly opened the gifts I gave you which entitled none of us to believe anything about the other.

I wanted to hear that we had been together and we would be again.  I wanted to hear that this was just a thing to be done and thank you or if not thank you then, at least, I see you there, waiting for me to return to myself again.  For an even-ing of this lop-sided story.   I wanted to hear, oh, oh, oh, don’t worry.  Because now I have to worry and I have made a fool of myself already because I was so angry because it’s all set up in such a way that whatever I do I am hateful, cruel, stupid to somebody.  A frightful sort of anger that takes a year or more of earnestly behaving and chucks it out the window just to get the loneliness and the pulling back and the sour taste of watching someone peel their heart off yours addressed.

And then I’ll have to eat it back when everything’s right as rain in the morning.  And that, too, makes me sad and angry.

 

 

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