I know you.
I remember you.
You think you hid yourself so well so long ago. You were wrong. You didn't hide anything at all. I know you. I know who you are. Deep down, you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Your lips leave a perfect imprint on the edge of your glass, frosted against the clear cup, tart liquid running down your throat. Your hands dry despite the tub filled with water around you, as hot as you can stand. I know you. I see you reading a magazine, dried flowers sunk down to the bottom of the porcelain. You aren't trying to hide. That's good. Because I know you. You stare blankly beyond the page, unaware of how well I know you.
Your feelings are so well stifled even you can't puzzle the pieces together. You can't hide it all. It's all there. If anyone were to look in the right places or take the time, they would see it, too. You have moments. There's always time to be raw when you allow yourself. I see you then, too. I know you, then. Laying sideways on a thin coverlet. Hand under your wet cheek. Grief hits you when you don't expect it and I know you then. Pain seeps out of you and no one is allowed to hear your cries. No one is allowed to see your face, burrowed. I know you, there.
Your cheek moves against the palm of a hand, skirt pushed up slowly. You raise to a half smile, sinking into a stubbled neck. I know you there, too. You know who you are, then. You close your eyes to push it away, to think of a way to block the pain you hide. Instead, you lose yourself. Seeing his shoulder briefly before it is felt under your tongue. I know you there, as well. You hide it well. But, I remember you.
The murmur of a lush filled crowd surrounds and I know you feel it. You feel your guard being forced down by the gulps. I see you there and the puzzle pieces begin to fade from view but they are still there. They will come back vividly, later. When they do, you will realize how much I know you. How much they do, too. Your words ache ears, even your own. That's how I remember you.
Sitting upright, listening intently. Questions are posed and you engage, willingly. Offering vulnerability as a gift. I know you then, too. Someone moves. The air turns on leaving goosebumps on your arm as you smell a current that wasn't there before. It reoccurs, bringing you out of your head. Back to that hand sliding up your thigh. I know you then, also. You close your eyes forgetting what you are doing, just as you were in that moment. Wondering, "How did these two blinks get confused? I should be here but, I am there. I should have been there but, I am here."
That is when I especially know you.
I remember you.
You think you hid yourself so well so long ago. You were wrong. You didn't hide anything at all. I know you. I know who you are. Deep down, you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Your lips leave a perfect imprint on the edge of your glass, frosted against the clear cup, tart liquid running down your throat. Your hands dry despite the tub filled with water around you, as hot as you can stand. I know you. I see you reading a magazine, dried flowers sunk down to the bottom of the porcelain. You aren't trying to hide. That's good. Because I know you. You stare blankly beyond the page, unaware of how well I know you.
Your feelings are so well stifled even you can't puzzle the pieces together. You can't hide it all. It's all there. If anyone were to look in the right places or take the time, they would see it, too. You have moments. There's always time to be raw when you allow yourself. I see you then, too. I know you, then. Laying sideways on a thin coverlet. Hand under your wet cheek. Grief hits you when you don't expect it and I know you then. Pain seeps out of you and no one is allowed to hear your cries. No one is allowed to see your face, burrowed. I know you, there.
Your cheek moves against the palm of a hand, skirt pushed up slowly. You raise to a half smile, sinking into a stubbled neck. I know you there, too. You know who you are, then. You close your eyes to push it away, to think of a way to block the pain you hide. Instead, you lose yourself. Seeing his shoulder briefly before it is felt under your tongue. I know you there, as well. You hide it well. But, I remember you.
The murmur of a lush filled crowd surrounds and I know you feel it. You feel your guard being forced down by the gulps. I see you there and the puzzle pieces begin to fade from view but they are still there. They will come back vividly, later. When they do, you will realize how much I know you. How much they do, too. Your words ache ears, even your own. That's how I remember you.
Sitting upright, listening intently. Questions are posed and you engage, willingly. Offering vulnerability as a gift. I know you then, too. Someone moves. The air turns on leaving goosebumps on your arm as you smell a current that wasn't there before. It reoccurs, bringing you out of your head. Back to that hand sliding up your thigh. I know you then, also. You close your eyes forgetting what you are doing, just as you were in that moment. Wondering, "How did these two blinks get confused? I should be here but, I am there. I should have been there but, I am here."
That is when I especially know you.
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