I remember that smile in a kind of Polaroid photo type of vision.
The edges of my view slightly tinted, just focused on your face through the windshield of my car.
I remember the deep breath I took as I removed the keys and checked my hair in the rear view mirror. The self talk I needed to not panic repeating over and over.
It was a dream-like experience, being in your presence.
I felt a little lighter, fluffier from the inside-out. It was a conscious effort on my part to keep my insides from spilling over. But it was everything you ever wanted from me. You reached into my malleable body and began to take shelter.
I remember hands and lips and skin and heartbeats. It’s a memory tinted in a dim blue light doused in whiskey and lust. It was hot and desperate, with an overwhelming exclamation of claiming ownership. Your grip was imprinted into my skin, even felt days later whenever I revisited the memory of you.
I did not fall in love in that accidental rom-com way. It wasn’t clumsy or ill- planned. If it was even close to such a word, I don’t know.
It was well calculated whether by you, or the fate handpicked by a higher power.
I still think about it sometimes, between a cringe or a smile sits that tiny thought of you.
Both of us have gravitated to other people, moved on. I’ve laughed more with him than I thought I ever would. I’ve made more genuine connections with people in days than I ever did with you in months.
And I can’t even say I miss you, but it’s that awful feeling of being so close. Having just a taste and being tugged away from the spoon by my collar. I can’t tell if I’m mad I barely got a chance
or if I’m mad I let you dangle the spoon in front of me
I can’t even say I miss you because, you’re still here. You’re in my weird antics with boys, and how I talk in circles when I’m asked about my previous relationships. You’re in the way I view my body as more than a vessel, but a place that holds either comfort or value to some other person. However sick or wrong that may be. You’re in my aversion to seeing girls that you would’ve or have dropped me for, because they’re shinier and newer and better than me. That irrational jealousy, that envy– you’re there. You’re in the random mention of your favorite movie by someone that doesn’t even know of your existence, let alone your favorite things.
You still haven’t moved out, you’ve overstayed your welcome but I still haven’t had you evicted–foolishly hoping you’ll choose to pay your dues in the future. Sometime in the future…
You’re lodged somewhere in the distance between my temple and my chest. Those rapid heart palpitations and the pounding head. The flushing of my cheeks when someone says your name and the heavy feeling of having a secret I can’t tell. You don’t even seem real, closer to a figment of my imagination than a person from my past. I need something, someone to tell me it really happened and it was real.
But instead I’m left with squeezing my eyes shut and cringing when I remember what you’ve done, and what you’ve so consciously taken from me.
It was a perfectly executed plan on your part and I cannot say I didn’t see it coming
I did not slip
It was a conscious fall