“He’s so charming,”
Anna said as he walked away.
Tell me about it.
He has this way of flooding my world
with everything and
with nothing.
I felt nothing when I stepped out of the cab,
something when I crossed the street
and everything when he hugged me,
burying his face into my hair,
whispering
“I missed your smell.”
He has this way of flooding my world
with hope and
with anxiety
I know it’s over,
I know “it” never was
to be over
to be begin with.
But hope has a way of camouflaging
reality with love
and anxiety always finds its way
back into my chest at 4am,
when the night is close to ending
and I realize I might never see him
again.
You held my waist
as you’ve held every girl since you were 17
but I allow myself to believe it was different
that time.
This time.
Next time.
I allow myself to feel,
even if I’m convinced I’m ready to see you
without feeling –
as I curl my hair,
blush my cheeks
and try not to judge the reflection
in my bathroom mirror.
You announce things like
“meet Sophie, she’s my future wife,”
without understanding the trigger.
The beats that skip
with bursts of adrenaline
caused by words I wish were true.
The lung that constricts
as I forget to breathe.
And I watch my dignity shed
its petals,
mid-spring
as if it were the first frost of winter,
remembering every woman
you have publicly loved.
Every woman
that was not me.
Despite growing older,
despite my scalp being covered
in strands that do not know your touch,
despite my tired heart –
now caged
and refusing to roar in lust,
I feel a rumble.
A deep fading growl.
There,
just there
beneath my left breast.
The delicious snarl
of my latent desire
awakening.
Awakening for another ten years
of waiting.
© Magnified Reflections 2013
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