it's familiar and new all at once. it's a bird in a cage in my mind and in the trees by the lake in real life.
it's so graceful the way he talks to them. he's beautiful and interesting through the blades of grass. he picks me a dandelion and we decide that the light refracting through faraway raindrops is for us. a reward. we buy a lottery ticket.
we drink whiskey by the fire. there is some kind of truth to whiskey drinking, so we keep on. his eyes are alive the way they were the night i met him.. that night his eyes were shining with light and warmth. i wanted to make him a meal. i wanted to touch his hand. i wanted to know everything about him, all in a moment. not to have him. just to remember how warm a hand on my back can feel. just to put my armor down for a time.
he looked like relief. with an underlying sadness that relief often sits on. i know that relief. i was there too. he began to tell me that there are things that are not the same as this moment, but the others started to come back into the cottage and he switched tracks, effortlessly. he threw logs into the fire and joked with no abandon and i laughed so hard i never wanted to leave. when i did leave, he looked at me like it was not possible. i agreed secretly and left anyway.
and now the question is, will i keep leaving? and i try to guard against it and keep him at bay. he writes me at note while we play chess. he places it in his bishop and i sacrifice mine to get it; i still like you, regardless.
