i've been a little lost.
the loneliness is palpable in this city. i've brushed past him on subway 5, holding a briefcase but no expression. i've heard them on the street: whistling as the girls pass by. i've seen it in searching eyes, in forced smiles, in the cellphone that never gets put away.
it's swallowing me. and it is dark and it is terrifying. and i can't quite stand to look it in the face because it is more than i am ready to feel. these are the things they should have prepared us for.
i am trying to find my way.
S.
as much as i can claim that it happened years ago (or yesterday), it hasn't.
i guess, when i've truly purged you from my system, i'll know.
it will be when i go to write and you are not the one that leaks out.
S.
what do you say to the one who still has your heart
after too many unclaimed years?
we would have fizzled like water on embers.
we would have burned, long and deep.
we would have hit the wall in a trillion sorry pieces.
but i would have loved the chance to try.
S.
He said I love you and it was soft and drawn out and utterly believable in every way it could be but I still didn't trust the earnest eyes and parched lips.
He moved his fingers on my hips like he was tracing the outlines of his heart or marking paths between my freckles.
An organ in my chest moved in ways I thought could equal love, but it didn't quite make sense because of logic and basic biology. Because I know sensations aren't always real: you can feel heat when you're ice to the touch, movement in complete stillness, consciousness while dreaming.
And you can feel something for earnest eyes and parched lips when the chemicals triggered by fingertips on skin don't balance out in the end. When all he ever was, was a handful of sensations that don't equate to much; don't equate to enough.
And who cares now. He was lying, wasn't he.
S.
I wish I was around long enough to say how I feel.
I wish I could feel.
S.
.jpg "Pilar Zeta")
