Indie & Mitch

"Do you know that this is not okay?" That grasping your eyes does to my throat somehow when they meet my eyes, might not happen this time, I thought. I close my eyes anyway, instead of looking at you, letting you panic alone/with privacy.

"I only knew you were going to say that," you said. I heard the subtly shaking tone, despite the flippant/calm words. I felt so drained at what would happen next, luckily this new challenge of yours piqued my old anger just enough to get each next word almost fully out of me. What of these I kept, I already realized that I'd never again shake them.

Speaking a bit too slowly, I felt, I said this time: "I want you to know, that if you don't offer to move out by the end of tonight('s end), I won't stay to the morning." My voice sounded like belting-down hale onto a gray parked-car that lived in our past. So much arbitrary history...arbitrarily betrayed?

"Why would you tell me such a thing?" No longer pretending Mr. Cool-Guy, I noted from somewhere farther away then the mere feet that set us (engulfed and) apart. "You don't have to go anywhere, and why the hell would I!?"

"Stop it," I didn't have to look at him to see him drop his arms at my fatalistic tone. "One way or another, tomorrow we'll be living separately. But please..." I felt/heard vaguely the telltale signature of a voice about to break, even though it was my own. "Could you do something for me tonight? Could you sleep with me just life we slept last night? (But) could you not let go (this time)?" Ever the coward solely where my heart is concerned, I still didn't look into the face of my (first/only) love.

He could suddenly reach me and lifted my chin with the scratchy pads of his be/well-loved fingers. I raised my glance to fall into his in the way that I would never again allow myself to. His eyes were so warm, mingling anger and love and shame, perhaps. His face was blank, but to me its very reticence spoke secrets aloud. Locking his jaw, I saw him swallow hard before letting out his withheld breath to harshly and/but pulling me too gently into his arms/chest/body, as though/like he too believed I embodied something broken. He petted my hair while he held tight enough to hurt a little, and actually managed to make me feel temporarily better. But (then,) what else is there? What else c/would I dare to expect/hope for?