Our eyes catch for the briefest of moments, hinging on some bit of infinitesimal time, an intangible space where we are reduced to nothing more than matter – simple skeletons void of any shadow of sensation. Emotions are tossed carelessly into the wind, its frigid cold bringing unwanted tears brimming at the surface of my eyes. I adamantly refuse to blink (this instant will be over soon enough) and I hold you, unafraid, in the rigid confines of my stare, blank face begging answers to questions long forgotten. What could you possibly have to say to me? These days I’m lucky if I get a glance, a raised eyebrow, or an undecipherable headnod as I navigate my way through the crowded hall, my ears but not my mind registering the mundane conversations of those around me. I remember when we shared seats and clothes and homework and selves. You were the only one who knew. But now I realize how silly I used to be. I needed attention and you momentarily granted me yours. Willingly, thoughtfully, honestly, you opened up a bit to me in between all the times I cried on your shoulders over lost lusts and plummeting hope. I’m pretty sure I witnessed a glimpse of all that you withheld from others, all that you concealed from sight, all that you denied existence. I saw it. If only I had returned your attention, your genuinely concerned counsel. Maybe if I had searched a little harder to find the right words, and maybe if I had more forcefully suppressed all the wrong ones. I tried the best I thought I could; please, grant me that much credit. For all of my lectures, my unsolicited advice, my unfocused half interest – I am sorry.
If we were to talk today, I would hang onto your every word, bite my tongue, and free my mind of all distractions. Even if only for some sort of closure; it all terminated so abruptly and without warning. I want to be able to strike up something, anything, if only to ease my dis-ease, if only to shatter the tension that weighs heavily upon my back, if only to slow my rapidfire heartbeat each time I see you.
Today, now, I can’t know your thoughts, your opinions, your advice. I can’t even pretend I know. Nor can I see that secret shadow of your former self – the self I once glimpsed, observed, and analyzed from inside out.
I’ve given up trying. He’s vanished, gone, left without even the slightest of trace. There’s no sense in aimless searching – he’ll come back at his own whim when least expected. He loves the empowering element of surprise that he holds over my head, circling enticingly, allowing it to lightly slip between my fingers before he snatches it away hurriedly, laughing. No longer can I sit and impatiently wait with a tapping foot and tired heart; my eyes have worsened from the straining in my weak attempts to locate his whereabouts, and it seems as though so much else is passing me by without so much as a backward wave.
So when our eyes catch, mine are the first to turn away to shield you from sight of the tears that have unexpectedly plagued me. Somehow I can convince myself that they are only from the wind, but I doubt I can fool you.
I never could.