the engagement

Posted: December 3, 2010 in Uncategorized

Your hands were warm and dry whenever they reached for mine.
Mine were clammy at best and more often ice cold.
I asked you if you remembered the night we met, how you’d reached for my hands to warm them, and I withdrew.
You said you did and then reflected that you never understood.

I’d never let anybody touch me.

You’d told me that you were looking for “the one” but that she wasn’t going to be me.
You told me on the bridge the night we met and I meant to slip away, but you wouldn’t let me.
You called…or did I?

I think I might have, but that seems so unlikely.
You must have called.

You must have.

The first time I invited you in, you followed me through the vacant streets until I reached my shortcut into the dark between two buildings.
“This is where you live?” you asked reproachfully.

You didn’t trust the darkness leading to my back alley, but I knew every shadow for blocks.
I told you I was leaving the city for good and wouldn’t be able to meet you anymore.
If you wanted to come, you should…and it was odd for me to see a grown man afraid to accept my invitation.

You didn’t come in, and I left.

I remember working for a few weeks in the country.
I started working full time and hated myself and my life.
We spoke over the phone a few times, but it was at work that I decided.

It’s going to be me.

Three years later, your hands were still warm and dry, but the touch was cold.
I locked the door behind you

I’d changed my mind.


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