A letter, one that i was recently reminded of….
In the dark room, with the slight smell of scotch so gently wafting towards my nose, I lay awake and see your face. Your porcelain skin framed in copper hair, that pulls straight and down just past your shoulders, thin lips pressed together in thought, that have already been completed. Your penetrating gaze that is looking to me for resolution. Then, with the certainty that I did not have, you reached forward grasping at my face pulling me towards you. Mouth to mouth in front of a crowd of random bar goers in Southern Pines, you had made a choice that I had wanted to make for months. Fleeting our these moments, fleeting are too the feelings that these moments draw.
Bunted up against the protective masks worn by woman in a mans workplace, layered with a uniform of war and disparage, I looked at you and saw the steel resolve that you place so comfortably in front. Then on, all I wanted to see was what else you could possibly have, where in that wisp of body could be anything else other than the iron core that was on display. Well, what I found I liked, and what I liked, I ended up desiring. I remember clearly when that happened, the moment, when I gasped and thought shit, I am going to get into trouble, not just from the palace guards, but from you, from the fact that without control I would have tried to have you then and there. When you raced to some poor secretarial desk on the second floor, and climbed one or two steps to get to the desk, you turned and looked at me with a smile that was one of a child. It was free, and unhindered, no longer weighed down by a mask of iron that allows you safe passage through the days, it was you. From there I was patient while I watched you throw your voice across the great room, enjoying the echo of your own sound. I stared in wonder at the woman that was before me, so fragile and tender, so filled with life, and I demanded more. In a land of extremes, in a world where possibility and reality must be given equal time and thought, it is those few moments where the desert fades away and the minarets soulful wail is quieted, where the world narrows to just the front seat of a Ford, and then expands again in the eyes of a woman who sat across from me. As my desire built, and my heart rate rose, I continued to stare at you while I drove. I was lost and needed your touch to bring me back. I put the truck into park and when I reached out to grab your arm, to show that the indifference on my face was my mask, you jumped out of the truck and raced to your room. Such was the end, that I remember. The weeks went on and the hours turned to days as our interactions became nothing more than the remarks on short emails and comments on a social web site.
Flying home and taking stock all that I had gained or lost, I was reminded of the experiences that we shared, though they were few, they were real. The random phone calls gave me hope, taught me that there might be something more to this, that at least you to had thought of the possibilities. Then my arrival to Fort Bragg and seeing your smile when I walked into your work, I knew that there was a chance. Now as I lay here on my bed, I recognize how insecure you make me feel when I do not hear from you, when your words are anything but inviting. I am not asking for anything to change nor am I asking for more than what I have already asked for, I am trying to explain what I see when I close my eyes at night when I have had a long day, when I have felt tired, when I realize the adult in me deserves happiness. I know where you have said you are, I know where you have said you are going and what you claim to want. Knowing that your own mask easily hides the same emotions that you so easily claim I do not have, with no intention of asking for anything, just this once, I have found that the chance for embarrassment from these petty words is worth the risk of sharing how another person has managed to touch me in a world of indifference.