“Go,” he said.
It was one of those conversations that’d been happening for months, those that never really begin, those with no end in sight. He and I’d danced back and forth, our bodies moving together then slowly breaking apart, tangled in a days-long waltz with no final step.
“Go,” he said again.
For the first time we’d both stopped moving. I knew then that the dance was done; the weight of his words hung heavy, so heavy that neither of us could move. His face was resigned, tired, plastered with loss. I’d never seen a face so suited for sorrow.
“Go,” he said, the last time.
I held him the way you hold someone you’ll never hold again, tightly, desperate to squeeze out of him what was left to take. He held me with just his body. I held him with my soul. When I let go, he was buried so deep inside himself. I don’t think he even saw me leave.
“This was what you wanted,” the voice inside my head told me. “This is exactly what you need.”
If only I’d known I’d end up here, desperate to dance once again.
No comments:
Post a Comment