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By Ali Date: 2007 Jul 27 Comment on this Work [[2007.07.27.17.36.10815]] |
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How can I miss a man who is thousands of miles away? A man who I haven't seen in seven years? He's the ghost in every step I take. I breathe to the rhythm of the blue in his eyes. I find myself singing every song that reminds me of his smile, every song I know he knows and loves. I've gotten used to talking to him everyday, in one form or another. It's silly--like I've lost my mind. And I just don't care. Because of circumstances, we won't be able to talk everyday (communication will be "cut back" for "obvious reasons," which I understand. Though, I wonder how cut back we are talking). That, honestly, just kills me. Maybe I've been a little spoiled. I wonder if it kills him, too. Will it get underneath his skin and burn a hole in his smile, knowing that won't be able to easily reach out and touch my words, summon up my voice? He won't be able to, at will, open up his email and see pictures of me waiting for him. It's not as free as it was before. Free...funny choice of words, I know. At the heart of it all, I want more than this. He knows that. Still, I wonder--will he be content with this distance? If I chose to, I could close the gap in an instant--hop a plane. Burn down my entire existence. But I want more. And I'm too damn smart for that. I may indulge in these vagrant fantasies, but I need realities. I'm reckless. I risk. I overstep my bounds, because I can. Because I can't not. And, right now, I'm caught in the limbo of wondering. My mind's on overdrive, and my heart won't shut up. Yes, I could wreck him, but I choose not to. I could undo the precarious foundation of his life. But I won't. For now. If he gave just an inch more--something tangible to run right through me, a promise that isn't a whisper--I would give more than just a mile. But the parameters are set, in a shoddy, shifting style. I don't like the level of uncertainty. Maybe I am crazy. But I just don't believe in 'impossible.' It is human nature to want the things that make us happy--even when they're...difficult. The things that make us feel, despite the obvious risks--a kind of resurrecting destruction. Every moment is a kind of rebirth. I wish he was here. I wish I was there. I wish a whole lot of things. Maybe Plath was right--"Someday, I'll have my death of him." |