(no subject)
For a Moment
For a moment, you let down your guard. All around, the quiet hum and clink of the conference dinner continues, but you are an island in the sea of conversations, staring into a far distance that seems to be somewhere between the wine bottle and the jug of water. For a moment, you look tired and weary and lost. As you pull at strands of thoughts hidden beneath the soft lines of your face, I want to tell you that I know that faraway place, that I’ve been there. I know how lonely it is.
Then you blink confusedly and in an instant you’re back, shining china and glass casting imperceptible pools of light on your face. Returning to words flowing back and forth, criss-crossing between mouthfuls and glasses paused for a second before reaching lips, your smile is elegantly reassuring. The evening carries on, and it is fine as long as you stay on safe ground, away from the shadows at the edge. Your hand reaches out for the wine that will keep the mind suffused and as your fingers hold the stem of the glass I notice that it always is the hands which first show of the end of youth. Yours are old and all the more attractive for it.
Waiting for the mousse chocolat, the general conversation slips away from us and careful words hesitantly stumble between you and me, me and you. In the formality of the evening, I feel like I have waded into water too deep; you say you feel the same, but the next sentence already is on dry land again, feeling not daring to seep into speech, fearful of being overheard. What speaks most fluently are your eyes, sparkling depths of greyish blue that I struggle not to get lost in, forcing myself to focus instead on your eyebrows, so perfectly carved out against your delicate skin.
When we leave, the soft air that laps at our faces is a relief after the saturated hours before. The night holds us as we walk slowly through empty streets. Neither of us talks; the silence is the most comfortable thing we’ve felt all night.
And when we try to say our goodbye in the straying glow of a streetlamp, I feel invisible strings pulling us towards each other. I feel the rush of realisation, the rush of blood to the head, and then your lips are ajar, parted, and your gentle hair silkily almost touches my face. Every inch of our bodies knows there is only the abyss beneath us; there is no place for reason when faced with the black hole that is the rest of life. For a moment, we teeter on the edge.
You turn away first.
The shadows will tear at us more than ever.
For a moment, you let down your guard. All around, the quiet hum and clink of the conference dinner continues, but you are an island in the sea of conversations, staring into a far distance that seems to be somewhere between the wine bottle and the jug of water. For a moment, you look tired and weary and lost. As you pull at strands of thoughts hidden beneath the soft lines of your face, I want to tell you that I know that faraway place, that I’ve been there. I know how lonely it is.
Then you blink confusedly and in an instant you’re back, shining china and glass casting imperceptible pools of light on your face. Returning to words flowing back and forth, criss-crossing between mouthfuls and glasses paused for a second before reaching lips, your smile is elegantly reassuring. The evening carries on, and it is fine as long as you stay on safe ground, away from the shadows at the edge. Your hand reaches out for the wine that will keep the mind suffused and as your fingers hold the stem of the glass I notice that it always is the hands which first show of the end of youth. Yours are old and all the more attractive for it.
Waiting for the mousse chocolat, the general conversation slips away from us and careful words hesitantly stumble between you and me, me and you. In the formality of the evening, I feel like I have waded into water too deep; you say you feel the same, but the next sentence already is on dry land again, feeling not daring to seep into speech, fearful of being overheard. What speaks most fluently are your eyes, sparkling depths of greyish blue that I struggle not to get lost in, forcing myself to focus instead on your eyebrows, so perfectly carved out against your delicate skin.
When we leave, the soft air that laps at our faces is a relief after the saturated hours before. The night holds us as we walk slowly through empty streets. Neither of us talks; the silence is the most comfortable thing we’ve felt all night.
And when we try to say our goodbye in the straying glow of a streetlamp, I feel invisible strings pulling us towards each other. I feel the rush of realisation, the rush of blood to the head, and then your lips are ajar, parted, and your gentle hair silkily almost touches my face. Every inch of our bodies knows there is only the abyss beneath us; there is no place for reason when faced with the black hole that is the rest of life. For a moment, we teeter on the edge.
You turn away first.
The shadows will tear at us more than ever.