20121029 the things you say part 19

20121029 the things you say

In this bed, in the gap between sleeping and living. There is a slow glow, molten gold burning at the heart of me. I am warmed. I am delicious. The warmth moves through, seeps out, coats my skin, puffs like steam into the new cold air. I am caught in the dream that feels true. As I come in to life I am smiling. I am changed. I am loved.

I open my eye.  The dream whisks away, sucked back into black in a flash and I cannot refind it. I hurt my minds eye with the trying.

I sent you a note. A real one, handwritten. It said, let me come and find you. It just made it clear, again and again, that I want you. I want you. I want to sit with you, talk with you, listen. I want to lie with you, drink with you, laugh with you, talk with you, listen. I want to look at you, watch you, stretch my hand out and touch you, to sit with you, drink with you, laugh, talk, listen.

I said, did you get my note, looking up at you, laughter skating round my eyes. You said, I did. And it was clear that you knew what I meant by the note. And you said, I cannot do this, look at me, who I am, my place, my position. It would be like the 1980's all over again, when this stuff went on all the time. Wouldn't it. Things are different now, less easy. Then you said, we can't drink tea, not at my space, but we could meet elsewhere.

Do you see. Do you see what this means? All the silence, all the time away, the snippets that I hope are more than they seem, they are real and for a reason. It is the reason keeping you away from me, silent and formal and distant. It is the reason, not a lack of wanting. The wanting is there, but hidden, you can't speak it, not aloud, it would place you in a place, a predicament.

We are hanging a showing. I am distracted by you. You have led me to a quieter place and we are doing this talking, still framed as formal, still reticent. Suddenly out of nowhere a girl appears, she throws herself at you, onto you, into you. It is quick. You move her away, push her gently away. Wow, I say, you've surely got what it takes today, you say, quietly, 'you've got what it takes, for me'. What? See? Gold melts, moves with languorous weight through the marrow of me. I am quieted. Mellow.

Where shall we meet I say and when? When are you free next week, this week? Not Wednesday, Thursday or Friday you say. But Saturday. Definitely Saturday. We walk now as we talk and your hand touches mine, cold long finger tips lock into mine and hold on. As we walk. I am aware of some others looking on and know that we should break this embrace, but do not. I cannot.