by Holly Z.
Do you remember the day we walked along the shore of Lake Geneva?
You picked up a heart shaped pebble and showed it to me with a sheepish smile. I watched it skid across the smooth surface of the water, feeling my own heart beating irregular and fast.
But that was a summer day long past.
We sat silently next to each other, facing the street of a remote road in Innsbruck. The doors of the ice cream parlor were swung wide open, and the scent of fresh raspberries lingered in the air. Just above the high mountains, the sun was bidding her goodbye by painting watercolors in the sky.
- It was a different feeling, sitting in silence next to you; one that would slowly seep through my skin and intoxicate me with its beauty. It had a somber quiet tone to it that sent volts through my veins and found peace in my mind -
I felt it again when we sat on the plane. Your heavy eyelids fell and the same spell overcame me. Playful glimpses of old memories flitted through my sight. You with your fingers laced, hands on top of your head, walking off of stage in a daze with your saxophone strap still around your neck.
- It was the innocent simple type of romance that took me over. Yet it was intense. It diffused through the days with soft smiles and gentle moments. Maybe it would disappear for a week, but I was surprised at the intensity in which it came roaring back -
I could never pin my finger down on this odd feeling, because love was supposed to be two sided, reciprocated. Endless spirals of thoughts flaked off of my eyelashes as I snapped my eyes shut and pushed away the shouldering ashes doubt. It became difficult to bury all of my fury under a furrowed brow and face others with a grin.
- Where are you now? You were always there, and you always needed me a little. You would always come and sit and talk. It used to be endless chatter, mindless chatter, meaningless chatter. It used to be discussions of our future, about what we wanted. -
Just a few months ago, I could have recited the names of your favorite basketball players and the way you label your binders. I could have listed off the drinks you would order on an airplane and the effortless way you would play your saxophone.
It's been a while now.
I can no longer remember the sound of your footsteps against the pavement or where my nose comes up to on your chest.
I lock myself behind an opaque gla** and I enjoy the silence