|You (standard:poetry, 551 words)|
|Author: Daisyeyes||Added: Oct 24 2001||Views/Reads: 1770/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Visions from our walk...|
“You” You enter in through my open doorway, with your arms firmly holding onto the doorframe. You look nervous under all of your fabrics, your many layers of skin. I throw you a cool look over my shoulder, and inviting one, added with a pinch of mystery. I want you to question me. I rise to your size, as we walk down the hall at the beginning of our journey. I can smell you standing next to me, feel your presence in me, but I can’t make out your silhouette. As we ascend the building in a mechanical fashion, we discuss where our journey should lead us. You glance at your watch, making a mental note of the time, and processing when you should leave. I watch this action, hoping that your watch will disappear, and for a short period, time won’t matter so much. You cross your arms across your chest, probably in a nervous frenzy. You look so comfortable, but I can tell that in your belly, angels are swimming. We walk down the road, making cheap conversation, avoiding the obvious discussion that flattens across our minds. I see the pond off in the distance, wishing it would only get farther away. I want to walk with you forever. You offer a hand, as we cross the creek to the other side; the less crowded side. One foot in front of the other as we step on the slippery rocks to the grassy embankment. I follow behind you, admiring your confidence now. You point to a bench, and ask if I’d like to sit down. Sitting now next to you, close enough for comfort, too far away for awkwardness. I feed off of awkwardness. You glance off in the distance and speak of your family, the family that has treated you so poorly, but the words come out with love. I watch your lips move. Your eyes scan the golf course across from us. You appear so focused. I feel as if we are under a weeping willow, the branches and flowers cascading all around us to the very tips of the ground. It’s just you and me, sitting on a bench, in the middle of a tree, with no one to see us. Expose yourself I beg. Strip yourself of your fabrics, allow me to see who you are, the colors of your true self. But you refuse. You know your limits and you conceive where you should draw yourself from exposure. My passion begins to overflow at your shoes. You pick them up, so as not to get your feet wet. My glazed eyes look over at you, and I blink. The blink lasts for an eternity; expressing everything I want you to know about me, to understand. You turn your cheek in the other direction pretending to be preoccupied with another event. I notice this discomfort, and make up some story about being cold. We head home. You say a casual goodbye as you turn your back to me and walk away. I stand in the darkness, watching you. I can see your silhouette. When will I see you again stranger? You have sent my heart into a fire. You have burned my passion crimson. When will I see you again stranger? Soon, soon I hope. Tweet
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