The Reflection of Sunsets That Ignored the Destination of Us
It seemed to me, when the sun set and his eyes mirrored clouds with raindrops that had yet
to fall, it seemed to me...
we'd been ignoring the weeks it took to get this far.
I'd spoken often, on Wednesdays, when I sat alone and conversation happened to be the only
thing that kept my hair from tearing herself out, of ice cream Sundays and possibilities
of his hand touching the little milky white part of my right thigh in a brushing that made
me shudder....
made me realize...
how much I needed him.
It was the tiny moments I sketched and photographed that held me, his eyes when he loved
me, and the sweat that settled herself on the nape of my neck when he kissed me,
tightening curls and muscles that hid themselves from the hours I'd pretended to be
nothing....
but a woman.
I glanced to my left as I awaited his voice, as I searched somewhere for the echo of
nights past and the graze of sleeping when his legs brushed up against the outside of my
ankles, I waited as I stared at the walls that appeared behind me when he found nothing
else to do but smile, and I had blushed, schoolgirl red with the imagination that I was
still there for hearts beat faster in those days...
in the days that lived inside the weeks...
we may have ignored...
as we walked farther, he and I, towards places I couldn't see and destinations I had never
heard of, but...
you see...
his fingers, his hand...
brushed up against my thigh, as I shuddered and needed him...
as he kissed me
and my eyes mirrored sunsets and storm clouds that held raindrops that had yet
to
fall.
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