A man I like speaks about his life, the women he has fallen in love with and his complicated relationships with his family. He speaks like he doesn’t need to hide from me. I do the same. I smile so wide because I dig him and this honesty where nothing seems off limits. I know we speak freely because the divide between our real lives is great. But I don’t care.
Yesterday before he left he sat on the couch struggling to place his watch on. It’s a funny looking watch. So I asked him where he got his watch from. It looked like a watch I wore at age 8 but the black gave it a serious look. The broken band told me it had been worn a lot and needed but worn by someone of humble means.
He told me it belonged to a girl he fell in love with in Eastern Europe after knowing her for a week. Because of that watch, I think of her as a human being, not just a girl someone slept with or fell in love with. I felt their love. Even if it doesn’t belong to me.
I help him put it on and seal the band strap. I smile. Happy to witness love. He wears her life, that time, those truths on him as a mark to remember her and himself. I sealed the strap and traced my finger over it’s broken split. I close my eyes because there is a ping in my chest and I remember saving my father’s watches after his death. I send a prayer out to the universe. Bless love in every form. Bless him.
I look up at his eyes and realize somewhere in the middle of his story that he’s more beautiful. His eyes make their own eyeshadow that highlights his face. He’s unearthly and full of feeling all at once.
He delivers the truth in the roughest of forms all the time in his speech but it doesn’t hurt. He brutally lays it down at your feet, off his shoulders and once it’s down you realize just how much he has carried.
It’s a bizarre feeling to bite my tongue…to stop the urge to describe in words all this fullness that is indescribability. Biting my tongue laying next to him. In silence. Feeling so much joy. I Bite my tongue more..