The Color of Your Eyes
You are kissing me in approximately the same way I remember you kissing me. My face tilted up, wide open, your lips to my cheek. You know we both want more from this. You know we both want to wrap our arms around each other and breathe in synchronized patterns.
I love the smell of your hair and your skin, but you can’t tell from the photograph. All you can see is two giddy girls smiling and sharing a kiss. A kiss to the cheek. I’d turn the other cheek if only two more dimensions would intervene and allow for such nonsense. I’d turn and kiss you back if only I could make the page curve just so to let me. You can easily see that I miss you. Not even oxygen passing between cheek and lips, you can tell that you’re still too far away from me.
Upon closer inspection, you see it is only my eyes looking upwards, searching, blatantly wishing for an answer. Neither of us had really realized, on this, our sixth-month anniversary of ever talking, that we were tongue-tied so completely. It was all the clichés, with all of the passion and none of the fears. Polite reservations ruled our actions. You said platonic life-mate lover. I said yes, but we agreed it made no sense.
You know how we also agreed it would be silly of me to ever ask you to leave him? I thought so then, but by the middle of February I was lost in your green eyes. I love green, you know. That’s your fault. I wanted to curl up in your eyes, wrap the color around me and settle down for a nap, dreaming of viridian seas and indigo skies. I wanted to steal your perfume, the one with the intriguing name, the one that made me smolder on the inside; steal it and make a living off of breathing you in and remembering your hugs and how we slept side by side.
But the photograph tells none of this. None of the agony of jealousy, none of the grief that he was never good enough for you, and you didn’t know. You can see none of my thought process, none of my resolutions to stop thinking of you, stop visiting you, even stop speaking to you altogether, after the gauntlet was thrown down and the challenge surrendered.
I could sense you from across the room, you know. I could feel you watching me, smell you heading my way. I wanted to sit on the edge of your bed and wrap my arms around your body, watching your reflection smile just a little bit and shyly look away (but you didn’t do that; I never saw the corners of your lips turn up after the phone rang fatefully). I wanted to sense you in any and every way, wrap my right arm around your body and be painfully aware of the warmth of the small of your back under my palm as bass pumped in our ears, telling us we were adrenaline-rushed and perfect.
But for now, I will be delighted with just this one kiss. It is really more like two or three or four. You are happy now too, and camera-crazy. You can’t see all of my face, but we both know I’m grinning happily, making faces. My azure eyes continue gazing upwards as the flash goes off, and you move away. My eyes close and wish you closer. You giggle in that way that you giggle, and I swoon.
We went off dancing into the night. It was salsa, remember? You clapped your hands with glee and I fell and I fell and I fell.
But the picture doesn’t tell all that.
I love the smell of your hair and your skin, but you can’t tell from the photograph. All you can see is two giddy girls smiling and sharing a kiss. A kiss to the cheek. I’d turn the other cheek if only two more dimensions would intervene and allow for such nonsense. I’d turn and kiss you back if only I could make the page curve just so to let me. You can easily see that I miss you. Not even oxygen passing between cheek and lips, you can tell that you’re still too far away from me.
Upon closer inspection, you see it is only my eyes looking upwards, searching, blatantly wishing for an answer. Neither of us had really realized, on this, our sixth-month anniversary of ever talking, that we were tongue-tied so completely. It was all the clichés, with all of the passion and none of the fears. Polite reservations ruled our actions. You said platonic life-mate lover. I said yes, but we agreed it made no sense.
You know how we also agreed it would be silly of me to ever ask you to leave him? I thought so then, but by the middle of February I was lost in your green eyes. I love green, you know. That’s your fault. I wanted to curl up in your eyes, wrap the color around me and settle down for a nap, dreaming of viridian seas and indigo skies. I wanted to steal your perfume, the one with the intriguing name, the one that made me smolder on the inside; steal it and make a living off of breathing you in and remembering your hugs and how we slept side by side.
But the photograph tells none of this. None of the agony of jealousy, none of the grief that he was never good enough for you, and you didn’t know. You can see none of my thought process, none of my resolutions to stop thinking of you, stop visiting you, even stop speaking to you altogether, after the gauntlet was thrown down and the challenge surrendered.
I could sense you from across the room, you know. I could feel you watching me, smell you heading my way. I wanted to sit on the edge of your bed and wrap my arms around your body, watching your reflection smile just a little bit and shyly look away (but you didn’t do that; I never saw the corners of your lips turn up after the phone rang fatefully). I wanted to sense you in any and every way, wrap my right arm around your body and be painfully aware of the warmth of the small of your back under my palm as bass pumped in our ears, telling us we were adrenaline-rushed and perfect.
But for now, I will be delighted with just this one kiss. It is really more like two or three or four. You are happy now too, and camera-crazy. You can’t see all of my face, but we both know I’m grinning happily, making faces. My azure eyes continue gazing upwards as the flash goes off, and you move away. My eyes close and wish you closer. You giggle in that way that you giggle, and I swoon.
We went off dancing into the night. It was salsa, remember? You clapped your hands with glee and I fell and I fell and I fell.
But the picture doesn’t tell all that.
posted by sprocketwings at 7:54 AM
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