miss you.
You looked deeply into my eyes in the morning and the first thing you said was “You are beautiful”. It was early and I was barely awake but I had quite a laugh, since I’ve been having a good look at my face every day and if we are talking about the same canvas, I’d have to disagree with you. But when you heard my laugh you laughed, and when I heard you (and still don’t know what the fuck happened but) I felt it — that when you said that I was beautiful… then I was beautiful. I looked deep into those unknown smiley eyes and I believed you.
Later, after having a cup of coffee while watching the blue sky get brighter through the dirty glass of my window, the easiest conversation happened and we were not strangers anymore. Then you trapped me inside a tight hug as we laid down in my old bumpy bed, and the same words came out of your mouth as if triggered by the same act of me looking you in the eyes; “You are so beautiful”. I smiled and said nothing, just stared at you, trying to understand what the hell was happening, and so were you. In that moment I could’ve never imagined how many times I would repeat those seconds as a movie in my head just to watch your lips slowly grace me with the sweetness of your smile.
There was no way of predicting what would happen, obviously, but if I could’ve known how much I’d miss you, how much I’d feel for you, and how hard it would be for me to let it all fade away… would I change it? Would I choose a different way? Would I say “no” to you on that fateful night? I like to think that yes, I would’ve protected me from any suffering and never spend a second feeling this weight on my chest pulling me down and turning my tears into oceans but… truth be told, I wouldn’t change a thing. Hate to say that, but it was worth it. It’s worth what I’m still feeling in this very moment. Despite this suffocating feeling I get from all the words swallowed, it’s worth it.
When you left, later that day, begging to see me again, giving me a hangover kiss and emananting such a lovely energy matching the satisfied look in your face, I didn’t believe a word you said. Sure, now I see I was right. Still, you did message me, we had some good laughs, knowing that we have the same weird sarcastic sense of humor, and in my own therms, I came to realize I’d love to see you again. Which, for my delight, happened.
You came up with your best jokes to amuse my friends at the bar, and the world just felt right as not seen in a really long time. It was so easy to like you, to enjoy your company, to understand why you were there. I held your hand, you stroked my hair, I discreetly kissed your neck and the next second our eyes met, revealing that shared urge. You wouldn’t kiss me longer than a peck or we would tear each other’s clothes in the middle of the street. I couldn’t stand my body begging for you. You light my cigarette, I breath the smell of your scent mixing with the smoke, and almost lost it. Your eyes are dangerous and I’m all about that adrenaline.
Your fingers walk on my tight under the table and you stare at me as if I was a prey about to scape. I felt it as a threat and was scared while being amazed. And now, funny as it coult be, you keep haunting me.
We run back to my place, your hands trying to reach me, teasing me to allow it before we could get home; the wild look in your dark eyes makes me choke on my own rush. Hurry up, where the fuck are the keys, open the door, don’t put your hands under my dress, not yet. I laugh. I’m drunk. I missed you so, so much. You tell me things… that you missed me too, very much, every day; ask me how did we do it the first night, how did we wait so much from the moment we kissed to the moment we left; ask yourself how did you not fuck me in the Uber on the way home. I laugh again, hypnotized by your voice, suddenly so low, telling me what to do. You hold my hair and kiss me. I give in. Take whatever you want; and you want everything.
Hours later, just before sleeping, we shared a cigarette on my window. For some reason, I remembered a poem by Neruda that I thought you’d like; can I read it for you?, I asked. Will you recite me a poem?, you asked back. I guess I will. And I did; read you my favorite from “One hundred love sonnets”, your look burning me in the darkness. You paid me with a smile and said you would read me something as well; went to your phone and found your favorite by Drummond. An atomic bomb wouldn’t have diverted my attention. It was one of the most pure and honest moments I’ve ever shared in my life. Of course, I must say you changed that spot by my window forever. There was nights where I couldn’t sleep and your shadow stood there, smoking, laughing and inviting me, until that one day when I got up and answered your call just to realize you weren’t there, and would never be again.
In the morning, you look deep into my eyes and say: “You are beautiful”. I stay silent, hardly breathing, and resisting the urge to look away. There it is. Under the loudness of our silence, I can taste the flavour of your peace. A shared secret.
You’d then utter your best words to entertain me (senseless effort, I must say. I’d pay devote attention to you counting from one to ten). You wouldn’t blink those sweet eyes of yours while listening to my shallow speach on urban theory, and it made me feel so shy I could barely sustain your gaze. Cheesy as it sounds, time would stop and run at once; every second we spent together worth a lifetime, but never existing.
Three months later I’m still dreaming about you. Honestly, I feel like it is slowly killing me, melting my memories, poisoning my mind. Somedays I wake up wishing you’d never reached me that night; I wish we’ve never met.
When I’m feeling a little better, I thank God for your existence. Blessed are all of us who met you and specially me, for the privilege of experiencing everything we did. It was such a short story, right? But you meant a lot. And now, I’m almost ready to let you go.
