Nic Narrates

He and I. We’ve been down this road before.

These familiar friendly dinners. Weekend jaunts in the park. Bike rides and cookouts and movie nights. These first date, second date, third date wiles.

I know the way he swirls his wine. I know his smell, his taste, his laugh lines. I know that twinkle in his eye, his charisma, his charm. I know when his quiet moments are filled with words unspoken. That he loves me, but that it’s never been enough for him. I know he is a dreamer, a sensitive one at that. I know when the wine has gone to his head, know well his intent. I know his thoughts as he walks into a room, what jokes will make him laugh, what words will make him cry.

He knows my vulnerability, my ache to feel his acceptance. He knows my strong will and determination. My insecurity, my vanity, all that my laughter hides. He knows my silences in turn, the lilt in my voice, my humor. He knows my style, my likes and dislikes, my spontaneity, and restlessness. He knows my dreams, my hopes, my sorrows. And he knows what I wish he did not.

He sits across from me, perched on his chair and beaming. He is all hope and energy. He is buoyant.

He will tell me that he’s never felt this way about someone before. That he’s addicted and that it’s no use. He’ll tell me all this and I’ll want to believe him. I’ll want to say the same. But we’ve had these words before.

“I only know that I love you and want for you to be happy. But every day we are apart is a day wasted to me.”

I look upon him, but my eyes are tired, weary. And I love still.

“Take my hand, old friend. Walk with me a while.”

Filed under: work in progress by Nic