Hover Over Me

I believe in love. I know sometimes it may sound like I don't but it is true. I do believe in love. I even believe in love at first sight. Hey, it's possible. I really believe in love at first touch. It is something other worldly, ethereal that happens to the body, mind and soul at once that triggers the kind of love that moves beyond the physical and even beyond wanting that person as your own. It is a love that causes a chemical reaction at the mere thought or mention of their name. It brings you out of yourself and causes you to be privy to your own reaction to this person. This love wraps you when you feel like unraveling because the timing just isn't right or your soul confesses you will never be with them but you experience something so many will never experience. The embrace of a emotional and physical soul mate. I do not mean sexually. I mean when the touch or embrace is enough to bring tears of pain and joy in one moment. It is a current the flows through you no matter how far away they are and it only gets stronger the closer they come to you.

Truthfully, I have known this but once and had to turn from it because of timing. To feel someone so strongly that it weakens you and you lose your breath at the thought of a simple touch of the hand, embrace, a kiss that is both innocent and sinful. Again, not sex. Connection. It is the feeling when two lost people find one another and both want the other to find their way to joy. Apparently, a love like that is damn near impossible to let go of though, sometimes, you simply must.

I spoke of the longing of doing nothing and everything with him again. I tell myself to let it go and not speak of the most intimate experience I've had but my transparency would not allow me to suppress those thoughts, memories, and desires so I confess expecting awkwardness to be returned and because the timing wasn't right, all he could reply was  a solemn "Me, too."

I have read and heard people speak of the aching of another's soul, body, heart, affection, love; knowing now what they means, I sympathize with my own heartache. Never have I confessed to loving him. Never will I, at least not to him.

Some terrain is meant to never be explored.

"I felt it, too." He says to me, not fully understanding what those four minimalist words were doing to my soul. They echoed the fallen tears that cause me strife nightly.

"I felt it, too."

He was not suppose to feel it. Neither was I. The connection that had my head in his lap watching him stare down at me, stroking my cheek and speaking no words but saying every fucking thing my heart needed to hear.

I see YOU.

HE SAW ME.

Over a year and we both can still speak of our feelings of being lost but still saddened yet grateful that our lack of navigation has brought us to one another, though neither of us can accompany one another on the remainder of each other's journeys.