doomsday

two: untouchable

warning: brief mention of self-harm

it's in the deepest cycle of my sleep that you appear.

your touch is warm and easy, almost as if I don't have to imagine it at all.

and I can picture it so perfectly: the powder-blue sky drifting over our heads, highlighting that sweet sparkle in your irises so that even the fake me is so effortlessly pulled into your orbit.

the bright, bold yellow of my dress, the material so soft and so real that when you run your fingertips over my hip I'm convinced that calling this a dream would be cruel.

so, I don't.

this little safe haven pulls me in so easily that every night I'm just waiting to be able to see you again, to run my hands all over you, to hear the comfort in your tone when you promise you'll never leave, to pour my aching heart into your waiting arms and know that here...

here is where we're safe.

here is where I know I can't be let down by the reality of your long-gone feelings, and where I know that keeping a little part of you all to myself, no matter how fanciful I've made you to be, is okay.

and then I let you guide me into the car, the conversations we've had over the phone a few hours ago coming to life in my head when I'm able to watch your lips pronounce each word as if you've been here all along.

then I'll watch you sip your coffee and get lost in the whirlpools of your eyes, the mischievous swirls dragging me in so suddenly and so deftly that I'm in too deep before I can catch myself.

but of course, that's just like the reality.

in which the closest I'll ever be is watching through a window, vicious words flying around in my head when you decide your day would be spent much more effectively with her.

which makes it so much harder when I'm pulled back to this: where it's too effortless to remember your hips between my legs, lips buried in my neck, making promises we both know you can't keep.

then the screeching on my bedside table is ripping me away from you, pulling me out of the warmth that was your arms, driving me further away from the fantasy where I was so close to whispering: I love you. I love you. I love you.

so here we are. only a table across from each other and yet I couldn't reach you if I tried. only one phone call away, you told me, and yet I'm never able to hear your voice. only an entire system between us and yet you'll never know I'd cross the world to be with you.

and then I'm pulling myself back in, trying to forget the silver digging into my wrist and trying to remember the details of your voice, your face, your hands.

but I know that no matter how far away you are, a little piece of you is always tucked away in the deepest corner of my mind, my very own version of you kept with me; all for me.

and in this fantasy, I just keep running back, back, back...

to you.