Sunday, March 13, 2011

Reckoning with the Differences

You don't know that tonight I watered this down with my tears. The pillow-top dreamscape became a sad bed and me, I was a sad scene. Eventually nested in a cold and empty hotel bathtub, I settled with the company of a pillow-substitute towel and the sharp reverberations that came out shaky with my breathing, tight like my core's contractions while muscling through the sadness of letting us go.

I already miss your hands skimming the curve of my shoulder, your face whispering on the back of my neck, and that you know before I'm crying. And how you smell my skin as you spoon me, and hold me, and brush away the hair on my head.

Languages between us favored your hands.

And by that, I mean your touch, and by that I know your love.

And still, I know that these tears I have to let flow because maybe they have been held back like so much that was never allowed to show. Maybe this is like a leaking dam, and these tears are being forced out of the holes that they, temporarily, had served to fill to keep me air-tight, water-sealed.

Maybe tonight is the night to let the walls reveal their pores.

Water surfaces through the openings of my body. This time, through my eyes. But you should know, that never before has a Chinatown felt so lonely. Tonight I felt like a foreigner in my own present due to the adjustment of my world. The past is just close enough that I could still imagine how this was supposed to be different. Five years from now is too far forward for me to picture in my head, but today I knew too well that you would have been smiling as we ate fried chicken, loving the Malaysian pancake, and that I would have felt the touch of your hand.

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