One Side Whispers.

Love Song for a Metaphor

We met five years ago,

in a tan colored classroom with bullet

proof windows. I could see your eyes, and I

could see the reflection of someone I didn't

know, and something about that was

so intriguing that I couldn't tear away.

Before then, I probably would've thought that

three minutes was a little

long to maintain eye contact, especially

eye contact

with someone I didn't even know,

but here's the thing:

looking into your eyes,

five years ago,

in a tan colored classroom with bullet

proof windows-

that wasn't eye contact. It was...

God, how could I possibly describe it?

It was bridging us together,

holding us alone in some alternative time warp

without words,

without breaths,

without anything except your raindrop

eyes, hand in hand with

mine.

After five years of wide-set solidarity, I

think you know me well enough to know

that I am not a particularly romantic person.

I merely am, and whatever whispered

words that spill from my mouth are in the

habit of being footloose and risk-free.

My thoughts refuse to be pretentious, and yet-

here I am, remembering your eyes

and grasping toward our time slip.

Today I sit alone, five years later,

in a shadow tinted classroom with winter

frosted windows. I can close my eyes and

see every poem of your existence, see

waves of dark hair, a soft constellation spilled

across your skin, lips torn in smiles, in

cautious approach. I can feel one cold hand in

mine, the other curved around my ribs, and I

can hear your sarcastic protest, necessary

for the gorgeous impracticality hanging from

your shoulders.

I can close my eyes,

and see yours.

I can close my eyes and see the

reflection of someone I wish I wasn't,

and something about this is so vacant that

it feels safe.

I can close my eyes,

and disappear,

away, with you,

far enough that neither of us can

remember,

far enough that neither of us can

forget.