Saturday, November 13, 2010
When did I know?
Right after I realised he had asked me for a dance and I had, unknowingly, turned him down.
It was a fairy tale moment, a moment too good to be put into words for fear of it being lost in translation. It upset me how it was always just moments with him, and not much else. But there was a quavering madness in each of them. A smoulder of hushed emotions, emotions bottled and stored and kept hidden for too long.
The way our eyes met across the room and both of us looked away instinctively, as if seared for an instant.
The way your hand slid upon mine in an overcrowded train and stayed there for the tiniest second before it disappeared.
The way I followed your shadow in the glass frame of one portrait to another.
The way your scent filled me up as I glanced at your victorious smile beneath thick lashes and an uncharacteristic blush.
The way your voice sounded in my ear right before I ran off.
None of it made any sense.
In another story, you were just another stranger on the street.
In another episode, you were the king and I was the spy.
In another lifetime, I was the landlord and you were the refugee.
None of it ever made sense.
And I lost a lot of sleep and peace of mind over it.
It was never going to work. It couldn’t.
And yet, you and I let it go on to be a force that gained so much momentum it physically hurt to stay away.
Your love was in Beirut.
Mine was in Berlin.
It didn’t make sense.
We were monsters of our own creation.
Right after a whirlwind of unsaid things and fireworks over the river, right after a walk past midnight life and a sweet, sweet voice message on my phone, you retract into oblivion and I pretend I don't care.
Right after dismissing other eager people with your arm around my waist with such careless abandon, you come to claim ownership and I smile politely and excuse myself. You pretend it never really happened.
We were monsters of our own creation
We were always just a conversation away from being in love.