February 25, 2009

it is best not to ask questions that you don't really want answers to

The things you wanted-- that you felt were lacking in your life-- the things that you believed with you whole heart would complete you or somehow make you feel a little bit like how you always thought you ought to be right now-- this is what you run from now.
You wouldn't dare ask its name or call its presence to your home because you know that once it arrives, there is a great chance it will not even do what you are so afraid it will. Or worse, you won't even want it anymore when it does.

So you avoid it. You screen phone calls, end conversations a bit prematurely before the end of a thought or a sentence. You leave without goodbyes, you close a book before you reach the end. You refuse conclusions and therefore consequence. You travel only in circles. You get to bed on time.

The remnants of those things you refuse to know, what happens next, doesn't. The unsaids and the undones loom greater than the space that contains them. In your kitchen pantry, under your bed, your vanity drawers, your left ventricle. You keep what you don't know (which is really the same thing as deliberate ignorance) because that's the only form that remains dormant and ready, just waiting to surprise you. To think of what could lie ahead of it brings enough contentment and never disappointment.

Pinned below me, I am seeing you through my hanging hair. And the way you look tells me two things. 1. You miss me. Maybe. Probably. 2. You will never say that you miss me.
I cannot help but smile because I am trying not to laugh and "make light" of the situation. I think that if I laugh, like I fear that I might right now, you will misinpterpret it and feel badly and never know that I already know what you have waited so long to never tell me what you are not telling me now. It is because of this I do not repeat things I have done before and lean very close until the space between our faces becomes warm and buzzing and the momentum becomes so great that we collide into one another. If you can't picture that, picture magnets. Believe in the mysterious strength of magnets. Believe in that air between. It becomes a force entirely.

This would be the part in a conventional film where I am supposed to kiss you I think. The universe has arranged this very moment to be awkward if we don't. It is at rapt attention. I let it wait as I wait and you wait too. Maybe you are afraid I will. Kiss you, I mean. Maybe you are hoping for that to happen. The only thing I see is a vague wist in your eye that I mistook for you being frightened maybe. For you did not realize the position you find yourself in. I don't want to kiss you, I decide. Instead I will nip you on the neck, below the ear or possibly the collarbone. Not hard. And then the red dashes where my teeth were glow pale white before camoflaging back to your flesh.

Instead of doing that though, I laughed.
I can't leave if you're on top of me, you said very quietly to yourself it seemed.
You're right, I said.
I disembarked and flopped on the mattress beside you and stared at the ceiling until you said something. Or I said something. I don't remember.

Don't look sad, you told me.
I'm not sad, do I look sad? I asked.
Yeah, a little.
Oh. Well I'm not sad, I said and I meant it.

Instead of saying out loud what you thought you saw in my face, I told you your eyes looked a bit more gray today.
They're green, you said.
Well they look gray, I said.

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