(More mushy stuff about my boyfriend under the cut: I do apologize. I actually finished this a month ago but didn’t post it until now – sorry! It’s rather rough and quite lazy.)
I look up from my book when I hear
The music from your fingers
And find myself meeting your gaze
And I feel –
You know too much about me now
(and yet so curiously little)
For me to feel as if the skin is torn from my flesh
Beneath your gaze.
Perhaps a little.
Gazes are uncomfortable things that I avoid
By staring into the stories I tell,
The dreams I’m having,
People’s expectations of me,
People’s desires of me,
The idols of me constructed
In people’s gaze.
I feel that.
As you play and gaze at me,
I feel oddly, strangely, bizarrely safe.
You fill up the silence, and I smile,
Because I remember being young
And feeling like all the silences needed to be filled
When I feel awkward or uncomfortable,
Or unhappy, I still fill them, rather than leave them be.
I let the silence be, now, it’s own thing,
And just smile at you,
And wait for you to smile back.
“I have a tendency towards hypochondria”
I mention, as explanation for my behavior.
“Hypochondria?” you ask “What’s that?”
“You know when you’re just a little bit sick,”
I say, “But you get paranoid and start thinking that
maybe you’re a lot sick and you’re going to die?”
“Oh yeah,” you say, understanding.
“That’s hypochondria,” I say, “The specific paranoia
relating to medicine.”
I take pleasure in knowing that the longer I know you
The better I get at explaining things to you.
I lie in bed beside you, and start to feel cold.
So I roll over toward you, grab your hand, smile briefly at you,
Say some joking phrase –
“Give me that hand”
“Come over here”
“Stop lying there”
or maybe nothing at all,
And roll onto my other side, dragging your arm with me,
So that you’re now spooning me.
I hear your laugh in my hair,
As you acquiesce, asking me to lift my head so your other arm
Can lie beneath my head,
And your legs come under mine to cuddle.
And just like that,
My flatmate apologizes for gushing about
Her new girlfriend.
“It’s just,” she says, glowing, “It’s the little things.”
“I know,” I tell her, “Believe me, I know.”
We share stories, and coo over them.
The precious moments that people share that say to one another,
“I love you” “I care for you” “You are important to me”.
Worth so much more in telling and in treasuring
Than the big moments.