57: Hold Me
You hadn’t seen him for a long time. How long has it been? Days, weeks, months? You have lost all track of time, it seems.
How easily you ignore the downpour of rain as you lock eyes with him across the pavement. How easily you ignore the halt in your eager steps to rush home. How easily you ignore everything else but him.
Beyond the surface of his darkened pupils you see remorseful recognition, painful memories, late night thoughts, a sense of yearning, a sadness you don’t understand. Your eyes choose to go out of focus then. Superimposed onto the image of his mystic eyes are the memories you share with him. Every touch, every kiss, every embrace, locked away in the deep recesses of your mind, emerge like a photo story. You miss reminiscing about these things. You miss reminiscence. You miss reflecting on the past.
Most of all, you miss him.
Neither of you say a word. Both of you let the spiritual connection you have with each other talk. Both of you stare into the windows of each other’s souls, trying to garner knowledge from each other, trying to apologise, trying to fix mistakes that irreversibly impacted negatively on the other. Within his soul, a stirring, a stirring of emotions which envelop you unlike your own. The need to hold you, the need to kiss you, the need to hear your voice once again after so long. How long has it been? How is life? How is life without you? You cannot tell.
You put aside your feelings and allow your own sorrow to consume you like wildfire. Overhead, thunder booms, its loud cries echoing your past pain. Lightning flashes, and breaks your eye contact with him for just a mere millisecond. The spiritual connection between you dissipates. You cannot feel him at all, only your own sorrow, in which you remember wallowing in, in which you resume wallowing in.
How easily you ignore the rain soaking your clothes, your hair, running over your eyes, your nose, your lips, down your neck. How easily you ignore your past pain, your healed scars, the chilly wind rubbing itself against your arms and legs. How easily, however, you sniff as your nose begins to run with unwanted fluid. He steps towards you, and you immediately take a step back.
You don’t understand, these new feelings. These new feelings which have so easily replaced your former, how dead you feel inside. How unemotional you are. How…inhuman.
Anguish crosses his face, albeit not for the first time. You remember causing these at different points in your relationship with him. You remember taking some pleasure out of it, although he doesn’t know about that. He doesn’t know about your…special condition.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
You’d like to say sorry as well. You’ve been causing him a lot of heartache, it seems. You can tell from his poor choice of clothing and the almost inconspicuous circles under his eyes that he hasn’t been sleeping well. His hair was rumpled, until the rain ran its fingers through it and patted it down. You can’t tell now. Can you say sorry to him too?
You open your mouth slightly. You can see that his eyes are trained on your lips, those lips he used to kiss passionately and roughly, those lips he used to treasure, those lips he used to-
“Hold me,” you say.
Say what? What are you thinking?
You barely have time to think, to admonish yourself before he crosses the little distance between you and embraces you like he used to. You can feel him smile into your shoulder, like he used to. You can feel his body warmth wrap itself around you, like it used to.
You feel comfortable, like you used to.
It’s such a familiar feeling. You don’t know how long you’ve gone without it. It’s been a while. You’d like to start over, if possible. If he’d take you, that is.
You have an inkling that he will take you back.
Thank you, my sweetheart.