I can hear the rain trickle against tiles of the house, soaking solemn grounds and bathing quiet leaves, soothing the very homes of a somberly sleeping town. Classical jazz plays against speakers in rhythms so sweet, surrounding air with vintage flavors, composing a breeze to whistle from a cracked open window as it drifts casually into messy, compressed sheets. Our eyes are closed to the beautiful sounds of early morning woes, legs intertwined at the foot of the bed, arms laid across and underneath heads, fingers interlaced among each other's. We lay quietly, silently, admiring warm skins and soft flesh, kissing bones with moaning sighs, relaxing in midst of each other's beauty. Yet, it is a sudden feeling, abrupt in the making, that I had once felt his soul envelope mine with a powerful embrace, as if I became this new life, too precious to be neglected, and too beautiful to be in pain. I felt as if he was reaching out to me like he's been yearning for my authentic soul, suddenly saving a dying bluebird in a storm, breaking chains amidst defeat, relishing all that create my unaccredited beauty. He proposed to protect and promise reputable time, fill each dark crevice and my scarred physique, taking me into a light that beckons for my attention. And I had once found an unexpected solace in his presence, desiring to be within his created peace forever, no matter what the world would bring.
But when I was a child, when screams became cries and cries became dried tears, my heart ached to be seen and engulfed by another, to be desired and consoled, to soothe the strands of my hair and whisper words of empathy. When I was a child, I desired to be embraced with warm fingertips and kisses on the forehead, wiping away all fears of the unknown, controlling breaths to the unexpectedness of life as the storm encompasses a small soul. When I was a child, I would pour tears onto my own shoulders, lament among bed sheets and blankets, always feeling alone and secluded in a cruel world of my own fights of survival.
In my very soul, I felt as if I was able to be seen and be admired by a man who sees and admires all, letting me breathe in the fresh, vanilla scented air, an air that I didn't know quite existed until this very morning. I was suddenly able to end my imagined reality and craving desire of having a being to lean on, escaping seclusion and isolation from demons invading my reasons to live. He seemed to remind me of all the reasons to exist; the purpose they conveyed, attempting to strengthen all powers and diminish all weaknesses.
And I still believe that he is much more than who he says he is, who he believes he is, much more than a lover underneath bed sheets, much more than a friend that successfully attempts all favors, much more than a son who desires to love and to be loved by all those who created him. I still believe in the words he expressed directly into innocent eyes, consuming all that I embody, including a heart that only desires to be loved, seen, and truly admired.
Yet, I can't help but accept the mere reality of our world, the whispering air I hesitate to breathe, the aura of all lost words and connotations. I wonder if he notices how close I'm holding him to my body, how pressed our sweaty skins are as they attach to fresh fibers of flesh, how unwilling I was to step into his soul as I felt he has stepped into mine.
I want these mornings to last, for time to die and let moments remain, to be trapped in an endless abyss as love continuously envelope our veins.
But unfortunately, he will only know what his own soul transpires to be, and will only relish and see what he cannot see…which is to truly see me.