talk

A café. The two of us. A completely chance meeting, my dear. I was one person behind you and the only thing that happened to be separating you and me was a white haired old woman wearing a frock and a dead look on her face. You might as well have been leagues away, as that immeasurable space between us was not close enough.
I couldn’t hear your voice just yet, but you were talking to the cashier and he smiled as you spoke inaudible words to his ears. Who wouldn’t smile? I was smiling and I didn’t even know what you wanted to drink. You turned, and I looked at those eyes, those burning bright eyes as you rummaged through your purse to put away your wallet. I gazed, I gently gazed at your pouting lips, your brilliant, brown, almond-shaped eyes, and your choppy hair that spilled out of that gray fedora. How funny that we both wore the same thing, my love; dark blue jeans, a white shirt, and a black cardigan – sleeves rolled up. I thought to myself, how wonderful: we already buy everything in double.
And I rushed to order my coffee, and silently, shyly took my place next to you at the counter. We both simply stood there, staring off, my mind jumbling to try and think of some witty way to introduce myself to you. But instead, all I could do was stand frozen, staring off in the same direction as you, wondering what you were looking at.
What were you looking at? I was looking at you, as you took your coffee and said thank you, and for the first time, I heard your voice, your soft, whispered voice. I got my own coffee and followed you outside, taking my seat at the table next to you.
Then I slipped into a dream, a quixotic, poisonous dream, and I saw the future spread before me like a brilliant flash of green that appears as the sun takes its eternal dive into the ocean. I saw you and me, me and you, walking down life’s empty highways, with only ourselves for company. I saw beautiful, rain soaked days, spent listening to your phonograph in the shelter of your bed. I saw us, tangled in the white sheets, your brown skin such a contrast. I saw wonderful, sun soaked days, spent on the green fields of the countryside, peering up from that sacred spot near the willow tree, watching those sublime clouds pass over head. I saw us, sheltered by the high grass that kept such splendid, tormenting secrets. We were in love, madly in love, and I saw a constant glimmer of hope in your eyes, your endless eyes.
We talked, we always talked. We talked of everything I liked and everything you liked. The way you spoke with your hands, the way they fluttered and waltzed with the words they were coupled with. You laughed and you covered your mouth, though I don’t know why, because, my dear, you had the most beautiful laugh in town. And then there were times when we didn’t talk at all, and we sat there, simply, lovingly sat there, enjoying the music of our muteness, the mute sound that we ourselves created and basked in, my precious Marie.
A vision, a prophetic vision seized and crippled me. You, me, the feel of your head on my chest, your arms wrapped around me, and the endless sound of the sea crashing against the indestructible rocks of the shore. What a rhythm: the beat of my heart, the ebb and flow of our breathing perfectly synced, and the incessant splash of the waves like cymbals against land.
I fell in love. I fell in love with the moment. I fell in love with you.
I slipped deeper into the dream. We made love. Our bodies were vessels to another world. The point? We were one - a union of life, of movement, of frenetic energy. Two minds, two worlds, focused on one ecstatic ending. Our souls collided, for a moment their explosion stretching out to infinite proportions, to the tip of the honeymoon crescent that drip-dropped moonlight onto our skin, and the vibration of infinities crossed time and space to the dying stars that pricked the black canvas of the finite sky. They were the eyes of the universe that dazzled on like a thousand dying embers as they witnessed and recorded every conjoined movement of our imprisoned souls, incarcerated beneath our dying flesh. Our skin rubbed, creating hot, hot friction that burned like coals in the fireplace of our souls, producing sweet, static sweat that made us melt into each other. The clasp of hands, the bite of your teeth, the melody of a moan sent up to heaven to make the seraphs jealous – and then, in a moment that transcended all forms of boundary and restraint – a transient flash of heaven in all its splendor glazed in the glow of your eyes, the glow of your eyes.
But then the dream turned sour, my love, and I suddenly saw the apple rot before my eyes. My dear, I was the worm, a terrible, vile worm that ate your feeble core. Or so you told me. My addictions, my terrible, howling addictions became too much. And my sadness, my crushing, unconquerable sadness was too much of a feat for you to take. You swore you’d eat my sorrows and make me better, but you soon discovered you bit off more than you could chew.
“I can’t do this!” you screamed. Oh, how I hated it when you screamed like that. The way your voice trembled and broke, my dear, it was always such a crack that it snapped the chords of my soul. I promised, I promised I would change, but how many broken promises does it take for you to walk away? It took a great deal, my lovely Marie, but you finally did.
You finally did.
I saw it happen on a night that appeared like any other. We were in bed, listening to your phonograph once more, and you were staring into my eyes and I was staring into yours. I saw something turn, something fade. Once golden, it all turned a dull and ugly gray, a gray that I hoped I would never see. But then I shrugged it off, lied to myself that it was just a phase. So I took my finger, and traced your body one last time. I started with the soft, upward curve of the corners of your lips, then your almond eyes and across your furrowed brows, and finally worked my way down your neck. My hand ran across your soft, brown skin, making a journey of your body, back and forth, back and forth. Until, at last, I fell into a sleep, a deep and deadly sleep, and when I awoke, I was alone.
I was alone.
You took all you had, except for me, my love. Except for me and that phonograph that put me under a poisonous lullaby, as you packed all your belongings and slipped into the night, leaving me for the worthless trash I am.

And so I awoke from the dream, still next to you in the café. You were almost done with your coffee, and I was still there, weighing the good and the bad. I stood up and began to walk away. But then I turned, for one last glimpse, only to see that you were watching me walk away. How could I walk away? My eyes met yours and I could not resist. The honey taste of your skin was still fresh on my tongue, the sweet tulip smell of your hair was still clinging to my mind, and your euphoric laugh still ringing in my ears. You were worth the madness and the pain.
And so I turned around.
“Liam,” I said and extended my hand.
“Marie,” you said, and extended yours.

We talked, and we didn’t stop talking. We talked of everything I liked and everything you liked. The way you spoke with your hands, the way they fluttered and waltzed with the words they were coupled with. You laughed and you covered your mouth, though I don’t know why, because, my dear, you had the most beautiful laugh in town. And then we didn’t talk at all, and we sat there, simply, lovingly sat there, enjoying the music of our muteness, the mute sound that we ourselves created and basked in, my precious Marie.