Remembering When I Knew Who You Were

 

I close my eyes and see her, calm, seated, smiling, able.  My mind so wants to define it all.  She is “beautiful, sexy, smart, classy” and I want her.  I see the outline of her breasts straining against her tank top, the length of her neck, the way she sits in a pose that defines strength and sex.  I feel my heart racing, my breath quickening to the mental images my mind is flashing before me.  I’m lost in the moment where my hormones have kicked in.  They seemed to have shut down my eardrums, probably sending the blood from there to that growing spot down there.

I can’t hear a thing she is saying.  I want to listen.  She is so smart and articulate, which is often even more sexy than her body.  Yes, that is saying something given that her body is so majestic to me.  I want to know what is hiding under that tank, under those pants that are hugging her “great parts” so wonderfully well.  I want to see, to touch, to taste.  I want to devour her in ways that she wants repeated over and over again.  Did she just ask me if I understand?  Yes, I understand that right now I am a man and you are a woman.  I’m thirsty and you are my drink.  I’m hungry and you are my platter.

The desire within me is not from some deviant mechanism set to procreate the universe.  No, it is from a place that desires not just that physical form I see, but the entirety of who she is.  I want to be inside her in so many ways, not just in the physical manifestation of intense desire.  I want to take her to orgasm not just in this act, but in every act we share.  I want her delight in our conversation.  I want her to tingle with even the though of my touch.  I want to see her goose-bumps rise up to meet my fingers just in the anticipation of their arrival.  I want her to smile at the mere thought of me.

I want to love her, to define this as forever.  I want to explode in my complete desire, no unload the burden of my intention.  Instead I close my eyes and breathe.  I focus on her voice, that melodious tone accented against our Eastern-American venue.  I hear her words clearly, her point totally.  I blink into the moment and inhale the truth.  This is Love.

Gone are the stories of horror told countless times to countless ears.  Gone are the triggers that cause this barrel to explode in anger.  Gone is the pain, the anguish, the torture of remembering the wounds.  Please don’t touch the scars baby…let them be.  Put the knife down…please.  Don’t cut me anymore.  I’ll bleed for sure and I don’t want to.  Just understand.

It is in the warmth of the Sun that the chill of the air is most noticeable.  You will hurt me, I know it.  You always do.  You will cast me aside or forget that I exist.  You will not care about the scars, or the blood.  You will do something that boggles my mind and breaks my heart.  You will push me into the fire.  I don’t know if you can help yourself.  You will hide from me, torture me with your absence.  You will blame me for hurting.  You will tell me my feelings are worthless.

Yes, I blink back into the moment.  Reality.  Torturous reality.  Yes, he is hot.  Yes, you have your reasons.  Yes, I have to understand.  Yes, I have to believe you.  Yes, I have to trust you, not my instincts.  I know it’s an inside joke, or at least now I do even if it doesn’t appear anyone is laughing.  Where is the joke if it isn’t there for anyone to see?

No, the visions don’t bother me.  No, I don’t hear the voices that tell me you are lying.  No I don’t want to think of you that way.  No I am not an idiot.  White is white and black is black until you create the gray.  I know I need the gray.  I know I need the doubt.  It challenges me to find the truth or to ignore it.  The truth, you say, is as clear as the nose on my face.

It’s the lie that seems to have killed it for me.  Sure, it’s a game you play that no one else seems recognize playing in the conversation.  It’s not making sense…every cell in my body suggests that this is a lie and it is one of many.  I want to believe, I want to forget.  I don’t want to see you this way.  I don’t want to feel the ground of confidence crumble beneath my feet.  I want to be strong, but the strength I have found in you is fading fast like a dying star.  Soon it will be cold and black.

I don’t know what your reasons for lying are.  Stop asking me.  I am sure you have them, and if I knew them I would not be here.  I close my eyes again hoping I can remember who you were, before the hotel and before a comment and your response that tested my faith in you.  God I want you.  Who are you seeing when you close your eyes?  Fuck, I just want to remember who you were then and who I was with you.  I want to forget who you are now and who I am.  I just want to move the clock back when we would hide “us” from the world, when your eyes sparkled in the Sunlight and your body glistened in the ocean.  Maybe I need to be your secret and make you nonexistent in my thoughts.  Maybe it was better when you could do what you do and I had no clue.  Maybe…

Please, dear God, take me back to the time when I knew, when it all made sense somehow.  Take me back to the sands of the Jersey shore.  Take me back to the vision of beauty standing in the ocean’s waves.  Let me see the sureness I found in that smile, in that touch, in that moment when it all made sense.  Let me find shells again, look for the lost stones and sands that time had claimed not too long.  Let me bask in the glory of believing.  Take me from this place and, for heaven’s sake, stop me from returning.  Let me see…

 

photo by: emerille