I pick up my
phone and press talk,
an all too
familiar action.
My voice is
pleasant to receive a friend
from the other
line, but it’s you.
“Hi,” you
reply.
That voice,
I’ve heard it before.
I’ve heard it
soothe, swoon and boom.
Unfamiliarity
in its recent age
tells from a
difference in its tone,
but I can still
draw each expression line
as I hear you form
the words with your lips.
Countries that
separate matter not,
as the
distance in my memory brings you closer,
pulling your
face to the foreground of my mind—
a happy one if
I can find it.
The years that
brought us here
have led me to
erase every inch of our timeline
calling them
“the lost years”.
Choosing not
to speak of them,
as if the
record books of my mind ripped each page
from their
leather bindings and burned them all to ash.
Each last one,
lost in the fire.
I find
one. It’s short and quick,
a complete
contradiction of our love story’s demise.
It was an
afternoon drive, with our destination being unnecessary.
An absence of
aggression in your steering
led you to
slow at a yellow light. You turned to
me,
as I sat cross-legged
in your passenger seat
swallowing air
through the open window.
Your blue eyes
pierced the thin exterior of my polished shell.
You knew me
all too well. Happiness flushed over
your face
and you gave a
half smile; like a deep breath
slowing
letting out a sigh from one corner of your lips.
I didn’t have
to feel your hand to know it had clasped mine.
Finger locked
together like the gaze between our eyes.
We held a serene
silence for just a moment
before the
harassing horns of eager cars awoke us and it was over.
The steering
wheel stole back your hands and the road had your eyes.
