I have this desire to brush my fingers along his cheek as he spoke. If I touched it, I could almost map out the stars along his stubble and the moons along his jaw. But then desire would become a need, and if I leaned in and kissed the freckles on his skin, the universes would implode. Planets would burn, civilizations would erupt, and my lips would become caustic, longing for rebirth, to start anew.
My stomach churns at the thought of the chaos. I look away. His words are muffled as I sip the tea.
We could never be. It seems the universe has agreed, even knew, before me.
I thought about my body and his, and the hidden galaxies he used to trail his tongue against, the black burns born from those who claimed to love me. I wish he saw them in its wake. Maybe he would see my full potential, the goddess and warrior within, already written amongst the stars.
But the truth cannot be embraced if he doesn’t want to know it, and I’m surely alone in this space of desire. It hurts to I feel it; the red thread between us, thinning and thinning the more he caves within, melting into a being I don’t recognize. I attempt to bind its ends, weaving moments and laughter into edges and seams, tying knots around my flesh. But the thread is too feeble and frail to mend, and it will soon snap and break into two.
I silently sigh and nod to his tones.
There are so many kisses ungiven, so many words left unsaid. My mind is filled with fantasies and stories and dreams, needing him to come find me, to fight and stay. If I could scream into his chaos, until my lungs were brittle and bare, would he see?
I wish I was honest with myself on our last night pretending. I wish I was honest when he devoured my thighs and tasted the cosmos within.
“I don’t want to keep searching you in others,” I wanted to say. “I just hope you see the soul you lost.”
But the universe cried against the raging dark tide when it heard my plea, tearing and bellowing in shrouds of pity, snapping the thread into two.
He then pauses mid-breath. His eyes flicker to mine.
Did he feel it? Did he see it, too?
No. He couldn’t have.
I clear my throat and glimpse at his hand on his lap.
“I’m happy for you,” I grin.
I gaze at the band and swallow the matter.
I have to be.
It wasn’t going to be me.
