Five sweet memories,
before I can unwind my thoughts,
before I can calm the world,
And justify my afflictions,
The bullet that heals the wound,
Overly aware of my spine twisting on the crooked mattress,
I count
Five. We’re sitting on the bench in his backyard.
I’m too nervous to move.
His words are rushing together in my mind,
but I nod gently anyway.
Gazing at the night sky as he unwinds his past to me.
He laughs, I laugh.
He lays his head on my shoulder,
letting his soft hair press against my neck.
I try to stop time,
Like a philosopher aching to solve the mysteries of human misery,
I have found pure truth and beauty,
but to no avail, time is a burdenous *****
Four.
We are hiking in the desert.
We climb rock after rock, yet my joints feel nothing.
He points out the best footing for me, and despite being an avid hiker,
I follow along, pretending to be grateful for his instructions.
At the top of the cliff, we sit on smooth stones.
Lightning strikes in a far off storm. We ooh and ahh at each blast.
Flash
Darkness
Flash. A glimpse of his eyes
Darkness.
Flash. His lips
I turn towards him and he turns to me. Our eyes light with each strike, but the stare holds.
And despite the flashes, we are cast in the darkness of our locked eyelids
Our locked lips
The lightning mixes with city lights and all is bright for a split-second
The numbness wears off, letting us realize the desert has become frigid.
We race down the mountain, returning to our normal selves.
Three. He hands me an old putter.
I laugh. He can’t be serious.
He pulls out another and begins stuffing golf ***** into his pockets.
Shh, he whispers.
He grabs my hand and leads me behind the house.
We climb the fence and land ourselves on the 6th hole.
He pulls me onto the green and drops two *****.
Ladies first, he chides.
Little does he know, I’ve taken many golf lessons
I win the first round.
And the second.
He wins the third.
Two out of three, I declare.
He mumbles, what do you want?
I press my cheek to his, wrapping my arms around his waist.
Inhale, exhale.
Our lips touch.
Two.
It’s six o’clock on a Tuesday night.
I am tired from work, putting the finishing touches on my homemade pizza.
As I slide it into the oven, I hear the doorbell ring.
My brother calls my name.
I try to pace myself to the door, but I feel as if I’m doing a full out sprint.
I open the door.
Orange roses hide his face, and I am the happiest girl in the world.
One. The night is bittersweet.
We spoon on the couch, holding each other as tight as possible.
His soft stomach in the small of my back
I listen to his chest, trying to memorize the pattern.
I try to take in the small details.
But no, time has never been my friend, and soon we are standing by my car as I try not to cry.
He places his arms around me and pulls me in closer.
I know I should go.
I know this might make it worse, he stutters, but I love you.
And I love him.
And it’s over.
Once again,
I am trying to fall asleep in a hot, cramped room,
knowing that for every thought I think of him,
I am 1,000 thoughts further from his mind.