His words are like transmissions through an old radio. In that its meaning could be misunderstood from the noise of the static. Much like his actions with ambiguous meanings. He kisses me lovingly on the neck and asks for five in return: one on the forehead, two on each cheek, another one on the chin and finally on the nose. Yet he flinches when our lips almost touch.
In the morning, he would sneak inside my room, silent steps like a cat to its prey, and would sleep the next hour inside my arms, kissing my chest until he falls back into slumber. I was an ironwood that stood unyielding yet he felled me with one swing.
My promises to him are like vintage Polaroid. In that I utter them at the moment and give it to him the same day. But like the image on the film, some details are lost in the flare and blur. As time goes on, the image fades—as follows the promise.
His words and mine are distorted from the moment it comes out of our mouth. We utter things to preserve our fleeting moments to cover the fact that we cannot be together. Not now, if ever.
Loading comments...