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We said goodbye after what felt like just moments after we had said hello, for even though months had passed, we had both always done our best not to share too much. Although I have gone to great lengths mastering how to be aloof, in that moment I regretted so much my inability to emote. "You make it seem so easy," he breathed, his face welling with discontent, and I kissed him on the cheek as I whispered, "I'm good at making things look easy." He had the sweetest demeanor, and my body trembled in the gentle strength and aggressive tenderness with which he kissed me, a passionate, bittersweet exchange, as we became aware that it might be for the last time. I've become so good at being alone that I had not even pondered how I might actually miss him once he was gone. I think my lack of visible reaction hurt him, but I couldn't bring myself to be vulnerable, to let down my guard and tell him that knowing we were parting ways made my insides ache in the most unexpected and terrifying way. Maybe we weren't ever meant to be anything; that was my thought from the jump. But when he looked me in my eyes, his heart was so pure, and I yearned to touch my soul to his. I settled for combing my nails through his curly hair and murmuring sage words, masking the things I refused to feel. He sent me on my way with his favorite record, and I said the most unscripted thing I ever had to him, that I'd always think of him when it crackled and popped. The kindness of what he extended to me, the vulnerability I saw in his beautiful, youthful eyes, the way he softened his tough exterior, it ate at me the whole drive home as I cursed myself for being so cold and wishing I could kiss him one last time. I still haven't been able to shed a tear, my heart too frozen to thaw, but as the Ray Charles erupts from my speakers, I stick to my word; I think of him, and I ponder on the possibilities should we cross paths again. Should that moment never come, I can still find him in the words of my poems and hear him in the rifts of his record, so I guess, for me, it wasn't really "goodbye."
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May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
megb42290
Ray Charles
We said goodbye after what felt like just moments after we had said hello, for even though months had passed, we had both always done our best not to share too much. Although I have gone to great lengths mastering how to be aloof, in that moment I regretted so much my inability to emote. "You make it seem so easy," he breathed, his face welling with discontent, and I kissed him on the cheek as I whispered, "I'm good at making things look easy." He had the sweetest demeanor, and my body trembled in the gentle strength and aggressive tenderness with which he kissed me, a passionate, bittersweet exchange, as we became aware that it might be for the last time. I've become so good at being alone that I had not even pondered how I might actually miss him once he was gone. I think my lack of visible reaction hurt him, but I couldn't bring myself to be vulnerable, to let down my guard and tell him that knowing we were parting ways made my insides ache in the most unexpected and terrifying way. Maybe we weren't ever meant to be anything; that was my thought from the jump. But when he looked me in my eyes, his heart was so pure, and I yearned to touch my soul to his. I settled for combing my nails through his curly hair and murmuring sage words, masking the things I refused to feel. He sent me on my way with his favorite record, and I said the most unscripted thing I ever had to him, that I'd always think of him when it crackled and popped. The kindness of what he extended to me, the vulnerability I saw in his beautiful, youthful eyes, the way he softened his tough exterior, it ate at me the whole drive home as I cursed myself for being so cold and wishing I could kiss him one last time. I still haven't been able to shed a tear, my heart too frozen to thaw, but as the Ray Charles erupts from my speakers, I stick to my word; I think of him, and I ponder on the possibilities should we cross paths again. Should that moment never come, I can still find him in the words of my poems and hear him in the rifts of his record, so I guess, for me, it wasn't really "goodbye."
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