October 17, 2016

Central Park was in the bloom of Autumn.
it was very chilly, but not cold.
Maybe because the sun was out.

Possibly because I was holding your hand. 


You didn't like the noise. Or the crowds.
I could see the energy stealing yours.
I was afraid to touch you.

You grasped my fingers and didn't let go. 


Photographs are important to me.
Maybe it’s because I stopped taking them two years ago.
I wish I hadn’t. I want to remember everything.

I wanted to immortalize the way you looked at me. 


Anyway, we were taking photographs.
You smiled for them all, and I held you around the waist.
You pulled me against your body- pressed me to your chest.

All of a sudden, the city smells like you.  


You're one of my most favorite places in the world.
Up there with hill stations and rainy summer days.
I don’t have a name for your scent- it’s just. Yours.

You don’t smell like things. They smell like you. 


I lost you for a few seconds. And felt panic.
Then the crowd parted and there you were.
Sitting with your head between your legs.

You could tell I was worried. It made you happy, I think. 


The fountain was beautiful. And people wish on beautiful things.
We sacrificed coins, and you made a little boy's day.
I saw him showing his baby sibling the shiny penny you threw his way.

I remember grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. I remember you watching me. Smiling. 


And then more photographs. With everyone I hold so dear.
And I tried very hard to concentrate, because
your arms were wound tight around my waist.

Your chin was resting on my shoulder. I could feel eyelashes against my cheek.


Walking is something I’ve done a lot of with you.
But you very rarely clasp my hand as tightly as you did then.
The walk back to Penn was long and loud and you held on the whole way.

 Walking with you is never, never a pain. 


You let go once. The crowd was thick.
You found me in an instant and resumed your hold.
I asked if you missed me. You said you did. Desperately.

Walking with you is always, always a pleasure. 


Crossing the roads was my favorite.
Every time we stopped, you put your arm around me.
The lights change so fast. You grab my hand again,

And we run across, laughing, and I feel like I may cry. 


At Rockefeller center, the ice sounds sharp and the flags are beautiful.
There are lights all around- strange, multicolored lights.
They reflect off your skin, and I’m left staring.

A hundred colors reflected off your skin, and in that moment they were ALL my favorite.

-*-

Epilogue

We finally get on the train, and everyone is half-asleep.
I feel drunk, on fun and laughter and hand-holding.
The train starts to move, and your shoulder looks so welcoming.

The me that swore to stay awake is quickly fast asleep, and you make sure I don’t fall. 


I am awakened by jostling and bustling,
people standing up, and the cold breeze from outside.
You’re whispering in my ear, giving my hands a gentle squeeze.

I thought I’d like to wake up to your voice every day if I could. 


looking over at you, one could tell you were tired. So I ask questions.
‘What do you want to do when we get back?’
‘I just want to be alone with you.’

I thread our fingers together. ‘Okay.’ 


We got ten minutes alone before everyone else arrived.
Ten minutes alone after a full day surrounded by strangers
and friends, in perfect, temporary silence.

You hugged me tight and I felt a soft sigh escape from one of us. 


‘I just wanted to be alone with you.’
My fingers tightened. I held on to you, not for dear life, but because
I wanted you as close as you could get.

I wanted to pull you against me until it hurt. 


And you pull back and look into my eyes.
And I think I may cry again.
Because I’ve never been looked at the way you look at me.

Because I never realized how important looking into your eyes was, until you looked into mine.