Moments

He pulled out and rolled away from me in synchronized steps like a final act when the curtain falls. I'm sorry, darlin, but I have got to go. The words evaporated from his restrained lips before I could respond. Instead, my eyes dimmed in habitual approval and I heard him silently thank me. He turned and sat on the edge of my bed. With his beautiful face supported by his softly weathered palms, he looked like he was exorcizing burden or memories from his head. Maybe both. He was always working through something in his mind, his thought process was palpable and made me fall deeper in love with him every time I bore witness to it. I straddled him from behind on my knees. Kneading his tired, fair shoulders, I quickly traced our initials, pretending they were permanent tattoos. I telepathically whispered unconditional gestures of love.  We had a certain, undeniable connection--private, unspoken. Understood. But outwardly, we were broken and unaligned. He placed his hand on mine. Our hands, layered like the complexity of our respective pasts, sat resting on his left shoulder for what seemed like eternity. He knew my need for constant motion was my vice. One of my many. But he loved me anyway. As we sat there, me caught between the weight of his flesh, I forgave him for the past, the present, and the future. He needed that kind of freedom. As the atmosphere grew heavier, my hand began to sweat. His skin always ran warm. I felt a knot rising in my soul as I internalized my deep empathy for him. I swallowed hard and felt another callous begin to expand in my heart. He inhaled slowly and deliberately, as though he had just ingested the entire world and all of its heartache. And when he exhaled, he pulled away. He patted my hand, glanced around at me and winked. Then he got dressed and left.