by Sine Qua Non
i know you can read this. i know you.
Apparently some things do not seem apparent enough. I do not need your words, that’s what the song kept repeating and I am led to believe that it is true. Your answers have become bland. I am no longer compelled to seek you. What I seek to understand is why you still make me feel so. I think its pointless to even ask if you miss me yourself. You say you do. But again, it’s not apparent. The bite-sized comforts shrink to a size i can no longer feel. Nothing is real.
We’ve lost our sunsets to the gray mornings ruled by thick clouds and light drizzles. In my waking hours you are just a name on a list. I thought I could still hear you laugh in my memories. No longer, what remains are letters typed in succession supposedly making sense in a mailbox hidden somewhere in this screen. There is no need to stay awake. The very reason why it’s become difficult to sleep.
We used to be able to transcend distance and time. Or believed we could. We felt we did. We knew we did. There was something there. How did we lose it again? How could we have thought we never would?
We dared, didn’t we? Shared parts of ourselves we shouldn’t have. Risked it anyway. For fleeting pleasures we had to consciously create an escape plan for. What we have left is a maze we put up ourselves, in the hopes of leading us away from each other. Here, I am making turn after turn after turn. I’ve covered some distance, yes, but I keep leaving traces of myself behind. Which you pick up gladly, although, maybe, not consciously to find your way towards me. But you know where to find me anyway. You know your way.
I think, now, you’re the one who’s actually stuck. You know you have to move away, you make it seem that you are. Then why do you keep looking back?
You know i was doing perfectly fine, sitting in this corner, making full sense and being happy with the prospect of my non-existence in your part of the universe. But there you go, hurling a rock through my window, sending cracks crawling at lightning speed through the glass sending splinters across the room, right smack at the crevices of my pulsating valve of blood.
I refuse to bleed to eradicate any trace of pain on the floor. But pain concealed is no less excruciating.
Yes, I was doing perfectly well. Formulating retorts to send you off, shoo you away. Calculating levels of indifference in a response, to maintain my stance of self-preservation. Indignant to remain at this corner, facing the wall, my back to you.
Please, not the finger tracing my spine, not your palm on my nape, not your breath on my ear.
I’m turning away. I will turn away. I have to keep turning away.
thinking about it, the very reason i continue to long for you now is because i keep telling myself to stop.
who am i fooling thinking i could handle this supposed no-nonsense affair. more than what you pour in my glass and what you light up between my lips, it is your scent and your touch that intoxicates me. the nights never blur past and the mornings are never empty of the mental scenes from the previous night. the recollection stretches on for days, weeks. i do not need to remember, my senses relive it for me.
ugh. why do i have to give in to the fantasy that you would want me for more than just one night?
because we didn’t share just one night. and not just two even. not just nights. even days.
ugh. ugh. ugh.
the grayness of the morning and the cool drizzle conjures in me an excruciating desire to reach for that patch of your back hidden beneath your hair and run my fingers down to trace the line of your spine and find that crevice of your waist where my palm will rest and wait for your fingers to come and converge with mine
but you do not rest under these sheets with me
i have to be the one to go to you and place myself precisely at the curve of embrace your body opens for me on your bed
inside where you are, we exist to each other like comforts we cannot let go of, in this distance we are waiting for the other to express their longing hoping that one is not rejected, hoping for another night we chase to the break of dawn
we wake up in a tangle of each other, our limbs reach for the other in sleep, and in our minds we convince ourselves that we do not consciously do it
the hour, the liquor, the sensation of being longed for conjures in me the painful kind of desire for that moment when you tuck your face into my nape breathing me in, brushing against the tiniest of hairs, making every grain of me tremble as my pores awake and you clutch at my hips and pull me towards you, stare into my soul, almost certain to never let me go, pull me tighter, own me, no words, no certainty, almost true, maybe
maybe next time, i should not let you go, i should not let go