It Is; It Isn'tbyd4rk4ngel©
Tiptoeing in the corners of your mind, lurking. Ever present, always watchful, waiting for a moment of weakness. Hunting, as though for prey. Seeking to find what lacks. Watching for it will do you no good; for just like a pot of boiling water, the more conscious you are of it, the further from your grasp it slips. Bittersweet and tantalizing, it seeks to wrap you in its' embrace and hold on for good. It's beautiful and tormenting, sly and brutally obvious. You want to deny it, to push it from your mind, but to try is to take all that is within you and deny it life.
I looked in his eyes and was, in an instant, both scared and provoked at once. They called to me, beseeching me to let go of the fears that held me, offering me a sanctuary. His arms, when closed about me, lulled me to peace. I was shown both heaven and hell in his embrace. Everything I had ever sought was right here. Here, in the arms and eyes and mind of a poet. His soul called to me, soothing all that had been by nothing more than sheer existance. "Can't seem to stop touching you," he murmured, skimming his fingers over my skin. Silk and lace, satin and steel. And I thank the powers that be for this crisis; because his touch, the compulsion within him that drives his hands to my body again and again is my salvation. It seems there was no breath, no heart beat before his heat, nor would there be after.
I meet his gaze again and again, his brooding eyes startling in their clarity. And I tell him, "This can't be. Won't be." And he shudders. More fool are we. We blame the pull, the completeness, on desperation. Loneliness. The moon, the tide, anything. Anything at all. But not that. Happiness is something earned and to have anything greater than the knowledge of this man would be more than my life has been worth. But I see his eyes. I know his thoughts. I just pray he learns the fallacy. That; without pain, he learns that I have nothing to offer, nothing to give in return for the beauty he has shown me.
I feel his touch again, losing myself to what it brings. And I tell him, "It's skin deep. Simple physical attraction." And he closes his eyes. The bind that ties us brings us together even while we deny that it's there. Static electricity, circumstance. Again, loneliness. But not that. Then I feel his touch once again and I lose myself, drowning in his soul, always just beneath the surface, giving over all that I can, breaking my heart again, all just to feel his magic, his heart, one more time.
I dream of his possession, the freedom of belonging to this person. And I whisper to him, "You are all that I am not, all that I was lacking." And he smiles. Because what I lack, he contains. Where I am weak, he is not. A power for a weakness, a give for a take.
In his eyes, I see the truth. I know that there is doom and pain ahead, and still I inch my body toward his, aching for that poison. Aligning myself with him, tipping my head to look into his eyes, indeed his very soul, laying my hand on his chest; I know I've found home. I haven't the right. I want to step back, to leave this man, this poet, for someone else to find, but I cannot. He is there, his heart beating steady against my hand, and I am not possessed of the power to let him go.
I feel the tears, building at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over. I turn away, frantically. He can't see me this way, know the depth of my pain, my need. But he touches me and I am lashed by that touch, rendered powerless. So I stay. Pulling me, back to belly, he slips his arms around my waist, pulling me down to lie at his side. I have never felt so encompassed, so completely touched. His arms were only touching my waist, our bodies only touching slightly, but to hear my body, heart, and soul tell it, I was a part of this man. Every inch of what we were, joined. Encompassed, touched... loved. Even as I shook my head to deny the truth, he pressed his lips to my temple, feeling the beat of my heart. Damning me for a liar. And I let go. All the fears, all the realities, all the pain, the hurt, life. Wrapping myself around him, allowing myself to be with him. Simply, purely, completely with him. Finally. And in letting go, I found it. Everything I had feared and longed for. Sought and hid from. Right here in this man, this poet, the touch and breath that I had come to depend on.
Twining my arms around his neck, speaking without words, hoping he knew. Daring to hope he could read me as well as I had come to know him. And I saw his pain, his fears, my heart breaking. God, to make it all right. To be able to show this beautiful man nothing but pure love. Could I be so lucky? Dare I allow myself hope? While the world comes crashing down around me, I admit it. If to no one but myself, I admit it. I hear my mind whispering over and over, "I love you". Did I say it aloud? Should I? Can I? I close my eyes, just let them drift shut as I lay my head on his chest. No, I dare not, should not. Will not. It is enough that I know. And for now, it is all I have. So I hold it tightly, repeating again and again to myself, "I love you". Was there really life before I knew? "I love you," my mind whispers. Yes, it's enough. And just before my mind slips into sleep, he pulls me closer, tangling the fingers of his hand in mine. "I love you, I love you, I love you," my subconscious tickles though my soul. And as my mind, my body, surrenders itself to sleep, I feel him breathe into my hair, "I love you."