sitting here with you, i don't know how i ever leave your presence --- you are so good for me, you are so good to me. i pour myself out to you, my heart beating on the table between us in this public place, but no one seems to notice. no one but you. this is because you see beauty in me that i cannot see. you love parts of me that i've locked up for years. i look up from the floor of my prison cell and you've walked through the concrete wall. you hold out your hand for me to take and say, come on. you don't belong here anymore. and the freedom i find is so sweet, so fine, i barely know what to do with myself. it's like trying to appreciate the finest gourmet food after eating stale bread for 25 years.
you are my most exhorbitant indulgence and my most primitive necessity.
tears are running down my face now. (briefly i remember that i am the girl who never cries, and if i do it's 2:30 a.m. in the dark, noiseless.) except now there's nothing i can do to stop my eyes from spilling over. the tears skip over my cheekbones and trail along my jawline. (i have flashbacks to crying in bed, lying on my back, tears strung in my hair like pearls.) i look up and there are tears in your eyes too. you are crying for me, because you feel what i feel and my sadness reaches you. i can barely look at you. i am overwhelmed.
let's get out of here so i can hug you, you say. i have new strength. i don't care about the book-laden college kids trying to write papers (that a part of me is envious of) or the impossibly skinny high school girls in their cable knit sweaters (that another part of me is, sadly, slightly envious of). none of it matters because none of them are you. we have our healthy, independent moments, many of them in fact, but right now you are my world. there is nothing else.
later, you cradle me like a child. i am asleep on your shoulder, i am content, i am convinced i want you more than food, more than air, more than my own privacy. i know things will look different in the morning, but right now i am overcome and consumed and there's not a damn thing anyone could do about it. this is a fever i hope never breaks. this is the road i want to take. this is my heart, my all, everything at stake. this. this. this is.
you are my most exhorbitant indulgence and my most primitive necessity.
tears are running down my face now. (briefly i remember that i am the girl who never cries, and if i do it's 2:30 a.m. in the dark, noiseless.) except now there's nothing i can do to stop my eyes from spilling over. the tears skip over my cheekbones and trail along my jawline. (i have flashbacks to crying in bed, lying on my back, tears strung in my hair like pearls.) i look up and there are tears in your eyes too. you are crying for me, because you feel what i feel and my sadness reaches you. i can barely look at you. i am overwhelmed.
let's get out of here so i can hug you, you say. i have new strength. i don't care about the book-laden college kids trying to write papers (that a part of me is envious of) or the impossibly skinny high school girls in their cable knit sweaters (that another part of me is, sadly, slightly envious of). none of it matters because none of them are you. we have our healthy, independent moments, many of them in fact, but right now you are my world. there is nothing else.
later, you cradle me like a child. i am asleep on your shoulder, i am content, i am convinced i want you more than food, more than air, more than my own privacy. i know things will look different in the morning, but right now i am overcome and consumed and there's not a damn thing anyone could do about it. this is a fever i hope never breaks. this is the road i want to take. this is my heart, my all, everything at stake. this. this. this is.
you love me 'cause i'm fragile
i thought that i was strong
but you touch me for a little while
and all my fragile strength is gone . . .
[sarah bareilles]
5 comments:
so this is why "we" didn't hear from you yesterday upon your return from the estrogenfest.
i have chills thinking of your magical moment.
abstractly imagining watching you from the corner, from behind my pretensious novel and tea.
i adore this picture of companionship.
yet again, you take my breath away and some how move my heart.
mme: your empathy touches me. i actually saw a girl there who reminded me of you. she was wearing a fabulous hat, had great eye makeup, and was buried in a pile of books.
lindsay: it's just intense sometimes, isn't it? yeah. it is :) thanks for reading & being moved.
i came back for a second helping. it's sweeter the second time.
come back as many times as you like :)
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