Today my hands are numb and stiff. Spring chill catches us a little up here, on the outdoor deck of the bar. I'm drinking a straw colored ale that isn't improving my warmth much.
I keep looking away from your face. Towards the street. Up at the exposed lighting. At the passing light rail train. I carefully count the blue parking meters up the street. Anything to take me out of this moment. Distract my brain from all the troubling conclusions it's making. To stop myself from crying in front of the five other people up here I don't know.
I still look at your face.
First I find your eyebrows, soft and brown and full. I want to smooth them.
Then I see your curls. A little bit fluffy and blase, just the way I like it. I want to ruffle it.
Your eyes are cool and blue, a little steely. Calming.
Your whole face is set like you are sorry. I find soft lines and concern, not anger.
The tension falls off my body, away from my frame. I melt.
But still we stand, trigger hands ready. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave this moment. Once I do, the moment is over. This is done.
But standing here is pain.
After hours in my mind, standing on the patio. Standing on the street. Standing on the corner. Standing at my car. I say goodbye. I get in my car. I close the door.
And I let it out. The cry I've been holding in this whole time. I open my mouth and screech. I feel it all throughout my chest.
You're gone.
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