Querencia

To you.. to all of you. Thank you for looking at me, holding me in your eyes, and melting me even if it was for a moment, a week, or years. Maybe you held me for a night. The sun, already dark with sleep. Hushed laughs and stolen kisses. Electricity lighting up my veins, the smell of you that drove me crazy. Maybe you only held me for a couple weeks. Made me laugh, my freckles lighting up my face in the sun or maybe we never saw the sun together and chose to spend our time under the cover of darkness. Maybe you held me for a few months- lighting up the pit of my heart to feel the warmth that I thought was never going to come back. You looked at me and saw me- but maybe only for the parts you needed. That's okay because I looked at you and used your touch to counter my loneliness. Then... maybe you held me for years. The first few months of flirting, inside jokes, and secret annoyance. Then some days of the cold shoulder, shutting each other out, or crying in secret. Those ...

I remember the last time I saw you as vividly as the moment you stepped onto my doorstep yesterday. I remembered your eyes, mostly the way they looked at me. I remembered your shoulder and how it felt with my head against it. I remembered you in total of the person you were more than two years ago. I never dismissed you as a ghost in my life because I knew that we would pick up where we left off that summer night in San Francisco. Then I looked at you last night and I realized that I had missed you and there you were, breathing in front of me, just an arm's length away. You grabbed me and pulled me closer to you and I could feel you were just as nervous as I was.  It's crazy to think about all that has changed after all this time: our bodies, our successes, our dreams, our relationships. I felt the electricity and I know he did too. We acknowledged what time has done the lines that we must constrict ourselves because of what times has put between us, for reasons unbekno...

Eyes locked. Hearts beating. Arms reaching. Heavy breathing. 2 years of time past. 2 years of different life experiences. 2 years of not each other. 2 years of "maybe". There he stood, so beautifully underneath my porch light. I remembered him. I recalled his name. I loved hearing him laugh. I could feel the tension, the things we wanted to do. Self control. Have I already lost? Or is this the beginning? Have I left the light on too long? Have we lost? For now, I don't care. I just care for the now. I remembered him. I recalled his name.

I saw her walk into the center of the floor, the light glistening on the tasteful shatters of light off her dress, creating rainbows and prisms as she walked closer to me. I looked up at the sky, wondering if the stars would take a picture of us, in this moment, in this night. I heard her voice and stepped closer to her, as my heels clacked on the floor. She smiled and held out her hand. The veiny, weak hands that I once remembered were strong, beautiful, and polished. Her fingers gripped around my hand and she asked for my other hand. I put my hand on top of hers and we began to move around, clacking in sync, in circles. Her eyes lit up the room while everyone was watched, their pupils following the shatters of light off her dress. She was the star on the stage, and I was so gracious to be by her side. "My dear, Bori. I have chosen my last dance to be with you. You bring out a light in me that I hope to carry with me after life." "Grandma, must you go? I feel li...

The lights dimmed; you could hear the sighing of the guests. I came out of the darkness, with a glittering train that followed. I felt gorgeous. I looked perfect in that split moment of time. A tall man walked out of the darkness. His suit laid perfectly against his chest. He was older, years had torn away his youth, his age was obvious, but bold. The lights centered as I started dancing with my grandfather, our feet in cadence with the beat of the music. My train glittered as it flirted with my feet. He looked at me, oh how he looked at me. I knew I didn't have much time. "Grandpa, what do you think about life now?" I asked. "Child," he responded, "The lines on my face tell the stories of my youth, the calluses on my hands tell the story of my hard work, and the aching in my bones tell me the story of time." "Grandpa, I feel sad." I whispered. "Child, life is much too short to be sad." he whispered back as he hugged me c...

Death has been looming around me. Family. Coworker. What Next?

Last week I saw you. I saw you smile, a smile I hadn't seen in such a long time. It made me happy to see your face light up the way I was so familiar with, but it also stung, knowing it wasn't for me. So, I kept watching. I watched your hands dance on her legs, feel the bumps of her spine as your fingers whispered secrets into her back. I watched as she fell deeper into you. I watched as her eyes burned into yours like fire. Her hands moved to your face, telling secrets that no one knew, but you. I remember that smirk. I see your hands moving closer to her waist. I don't see her resisting. I see that you're happy. I see that she's happy. You look at her the way you used to look at me: hopeful. I can see you haven't felt this way in a long time, possibly since me. There I stood, unable to move. How could I move? For I am the wall that looks upon you both. Sometimes I feel you lean against me, the cool touch of your hand gently resting. How could I move? For I...