Chocolate Eyes

Everyone finds something to make the world stop for a second. For some, it’s drugs or booze, but mine would be you. That feeling of having you this close makes it hard to believe there is a world outside turning. Every single motion is in slow motion, and I can feel you on a plane beyond the physical. I can feel your soul touch mine in the way you look at me with those wise chocolate  eyes. 

My god those eyes. 

Breathing in and out with you has become a sensual experience. You can’t seem to hide how much you feel for me despite all that trying. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so much in one pair of eyes. I think I could love those eyes as well as the boy they accompany more deeply than you could imagine. 

There is no urgency about this thing we have going which makes it perfection. A steady hunger for your presence always draws me back–I crave the light you bring to my eyes. Here in the summer heat of this apartment with the upstairs neighbors rap music thumping the ceiling, I feel my heart give way. Please fall with me because, my dear, it’s terrifying and wonderful. Your face in my fingertips and your eyes on mine crumble every one of my defenses. I’m yours. 

Remembering Dawn

I took a stroll today back through the town I know better than I should, past the house of the boy that I first kissed, the one I thought I loved, the one that I thought loved me, and place after place my heart took more than I ever thought it could handle.

Everything smelled the same, looked the same–the only difference was the person I have become, not so free or as innocent as I once had been. A tempered version of the fiery youth I was walks past the tree blooming like it did that spring when night wanderings were a way of life. Your perfume is the melody that takes me back no matter where I go, and I smile. It makes me think of my partner in crime and the way the cool, wet grass felt against my skin in the heat of summer night air as we talked about everything. I never guessed that one day were would be strangers again.

All of them seemed so permanent. Those moments are so special to me–some shared under moonlight, some under the sun–but now it is as if someone else lived that life. Seeing each other in passing down the isle at the grocers doesn’t spark a “hello.”

Instead it’s fear.

Perhaps we are afraid that the reminiscing ruins the memory, or perhaps we truly are strangers. New people whose pasts are nothing but a dream to help shape this perception of reality and who we have become. My dream is fading too now of the dawn of my life, but I still remember. The sweet, stolen wine and hot tubs filled to the brim with laughing bodies and the prayer the sun would never rise are once again awakened through the haze by sitting under these blooms in the blanket of twilight air. Even if it has to just be me alone from now on, remembering has never felt so good.