finally goodbye // sweet, blessed, you

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you slipped easily into my life as easily as you slipped into the room that first time i saw you when i openly stared and you glanced back and my cheeks flushed eyelids dropped and my gaze hit the floor but i couldn't peel my mind away from the view sweet, blessed, view of sweet, blessed, you what it really comes down to is that, you were foreign territory but, on my porch, after the first date when we let go of the first hug the way your hand lingered briefly on my shoulder blade felt totally and completely familiar and there are a million things i could say but mostly the only words that seem to make sense, are the ones that form around the sound of your fingers on guitar strings and the look on your face when you started a song that you knew i'd love and the way the look on my face felt when i recognized it the way i felt my eyes crinkle and my lips tipped upward, full and happy and right then, i fell for you i finally let myself fall for you so much, irreversibly, in it up to my collar bones with the head and shoulders whispering they'd soon follow suit and oh, oh, did they ever sweet, blessed, did they ever and mostly it's just a pervasive, thrumming feeling that i'd like nothing more than to fit the curve of my body to the path of your rib cage and the crook of your hip and let you whisper goodnight stories while my breaths deepen and my eyelids get heavy with the weight of every new, shared piece of you and then there was the look of you leaning over my bookcase thumbing through my pages tilting your head to read my titles it felt like you were skimming the corners of my soul and in that dark street with my head tipped back to look you in the face that part where i didn't break eye contact and neither did you i wish you could see yourself the way i saw you, right then you had the ocean in your eyes and desert sand in the warm lines around them you looked like home sweet, blessed, home and that part where you crossed the room to give me your blanket when i hadn't even asked just to make sure i wasn't cold and you squeezed my shoulder as you tucked me in i felt the imprint of your hand on my arm for days and, technically, then, i wasn't yours but in a million growing ways, i knew i somehow still was and i don't think i could have stopped myself if i tried when the sight of you climbing out of the car in your simple gray t-shirt loosed an audible sigh from my lips and made my breath stop cold in my throat there's just always something about you that moves me and gray is my favorite color, you know i know you know and that one early morning with you and me, my scarf and marshmallow coat with the icy air and the sun melting up and over the horizon and the ebbs and flows of the swells in our easy conversation and our easy silence our quiet feet creeping along the path with the faint sounds of lilting music from a nearby window i don't know, there was just something about hearing you talk about living your passion sweet, blessed, passion that made me want to live it with you too but, here's the thing.... you didn't want me ....and that's the whole thing so i watched that movie the one you said we'd watch together and i made plans to visit that place the one you made me promise i wouldn't explore without you and i bought tickets to a show our show two shows and i guess that felt sort of spiteful but also sort of like healing and i think i needed a little of both and it'd been days, weeks months, soon when you squeezed my shoulder in passing two days before a brief, unexpected email almost so casual you'd think nothing had happened and no time had passed and i felt the familiar imprint of your simple touch and i fell into your simple words for just a second until my gut clenched and breathing took reminding and i wanted to pound my fists on the wall and yell at the universe to pleaseandthankyou remove your touch from my skin and relay my unwritten reply which i'm sorry, but it was "leave me the hell alone" it was your birthday. and i would tell you that i remembered but i won't. . . .

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