i walked out into the balcony and there she was, beautifully sulking in her own misery. she had on nothing but my over-sized T-shirt and a cigarette in her right hand. her finger nails were painted white, so lick-able like little lollipops. the beauty of her was that, she didn’t seem to mind the inconsistencies of her own fingers. her hair fell like a wave-pool onto her narrow shoulders, she had it swiped to the side like she does most of the time. her highlights were fading into a non-color color, and i could stare at her for hours. like that. surrounded by air like it could do nothing but magnify her marvel, smoking a cigarette straight to the bud staring into oblivion as if it holds all the answers. answers to why i seem to keep hurting her. she turned around and caught a glimpse of me, i started to back away and she ran to me.
i held her.
i couldn’t breath, she held on to me like i was life. i sat on the chair and pulled her back to me. for a second she seemed confused, i didn’t know whether or not i was allowed to touch her. i held her hips and i kissed her belly, i hugged her as she stood and i was speechless.
my need for her, my innate craving, rendered me speechless.
i begged her with only flesh to come closer, and when she finally sat, on my knees and she crumbled, she fell on me like raindrops falling in a vast desert, fast, angry and with a thud. i curled her up even tighter to me and i watched her as she went along with it.
in my arms she was more fragile than that look she got, chasing oblivion.
in my arms i felt her crawl underneath my skin. i felt her find her way into my flesh like somehow, it was home.
i will forever be taunted by the feel of her under my fingertips. the sensation of her back on the palm of my hand as i rubbed circles into her spine. the euphoria of her hair on my neck and her smell mixing with the smoke emerging from her mouth. i can never forget the feeling in my gut the moment i absorb her sobs with that kiss. a kiss that will haunt me for as long as i live. in that moment, i released, i unveiled, i was shattered. no matter how invisible i was in my own mind, i was always visible to her. i could hurt her twice as hard as i could ever ache, i could kill her and it would be a massacre, as i perish away all her possible lives.
in my arms on the balcony, in that cold hotel room, she loved me.
i should be responsible for what that does to her. i no longer live as one. i am born again. in her.
i could tell her how i meant no harm, or how its something i cant control. i could spin in so many twists that would only make sense in my own mind.
and at the end of the day, this broken angel, sat on my lap, kissing my lips, holding my body …
deserving or not, this broken angel was mine. and in that cold hotel room, i realized, it happened without my even noticing, it hit me like a storm, and i too, was hers.
I dried my eyes and looked at him, i saw the man that would be my undoing. i saw unpredictability and sanity. i saw clarity in the midst of the fog. i ran to him, i caught a handful of his dark hair and i held on for dear life. I won’t deny my constant wondering of how or what, he feels for me. I also can’t deny, my fragility. Or even my inability to hear the answer.
Worried he might break i felt him reach for my body like a rose falls reaching, succumbing, darkening, in the presence of gravity. i let him hold me and i let myself be held by HIM.
Sitting there, wrapped in him and my own flesh, in that cold hotel room, I found myself feeling more at home than I ever had. I cradled his face, I kissed his forehead, took another drag of my cigarette and i cried.
My lips brushed against his, in the most intimate sensation i would ever experience, barely touching, sharing the same air, breaking, into the ecstasy that is us.
With my thumb, i rubbed a tattoo on the corner that merged his right ear with his neck, the little hollow corner that i knew he could never resist.
I didn’t know how to explain, or even find the words, to help me translate this kind of love, how it made my world possible, or that feeling home will no longer mean anything other than the smell of him, or how I found faith I thought I’d lost, somewhere in the spaces between his lashes.
Is it crazy that i now crave the pain i feel when around him? i crave the twists in my gut and the tears of pure and unadulterated hurt. i was addicted to his kind of pain and the sorrow it seemed to cause me. He wore sad so beautifully it became a trend.
Under the circles he was rubbing on my back i felt a hollowness being filled.
That was when I caught myself trying to tell him a story, i thought i could breath it into him, or kiss my way through the sentences. A story of a girl, lost in translation, only to be found In her own sweet oblivion. Covered in solitude, and all the while knowing full well
She was meant
She was meant
I was always meant to meet him. Meant to fall in love the way we did. Meant to feel the hurt we both caused, as perfectly as the glee we seemed to convey. Yes, i think maybe we were always meant to save each other.
He found me trying to carve out my own spot in the universe, only seconds before he introduced me to a spot already carved out and ready for me. Mine, from the very moment it existed.
I wanted to say all that.
I wanted to kiss him, and decode my thoughts into breaths.
With all those years and words, struggling on my lips, all I managed to say was:
“You know, I’m so glad you’re my best friend.”