I wish I could re-do that night. Maybe if I had been better he would have loved me. I still have flashbacks to the feeling of his hands on my hips. I stepped away because I was nervous. After spending all day together a safe distance apart, trying to deny the desire that was building between us, the feeling of his touch was overwhelming. Maybe if I would have leaned in to him, if I would have let his hands linger for longer and then travel, it would have been different.
The vision of my chin resting on his bare back flashes before my eyes. Why did I just leave it there? Why didn’t I kiss his neck and slowly move my fingers across his shoulders? Why didn’t I rub my hands down his arms and make him kiss me again? I was afraid of doing something wrong, but maybe what I thought was wrong would have made everything so right.
I left so early that morning. I woke up next to him and could have stayed there all day, but I had a meeting, a train to catch — or something. So few words were passed between us. Maybe if I would have told him how overwhelmed with emotions I become around him he would have loved me. Maybe if I would have made him laugh that morning he would have wanted me to stay. But we were silent. Avoiding the elephant in the room that was the night we had just spent together.
Is it really him that I think about when my heart starts to pound with loneliness and my stomach begins to feel empty? I question whether it is him, or the idea of that person. The thought of having someone to lie with, someone to kiss, someone to hold on to at night in the dark. Could his form stroking my hair and kissing my lips be replaced with any other in my visions of what would make me feel full? Or will I always be thinking of his smile, his smell, his feeling.
My heart beats fast when I think of that night. Sometimes it hits me when I least expect it and I need to squeeze my eyes shut tight to make the image fade away. But the feeling always lingers. The little droplet of want that the image leaves grows and sprouts into a tree with branches of desire, longing, loneliness, and regret. It grows and it spreads until every fiber of my being is entwined with an emotion or an image from that memory, and I am paralyzed. Nothing makes sense, and I am lost. Stuck in a void that I fear can only be filled by him but never will. I am stuck.
And I am weak.