Relapse X

He kissed the pale scars on my forearm. The morning light is thrown in through the window near our heads and brightens his face. I have never felt more attached and simultaneously distant from anyone before.

We're lying in bed after a night of drinking. Our first time seeing each other in the month since our relationship's implosion had been caused by a mutual friend's birthday all day celebration, hosted at by his girlfriend at our apartment. I didn't even know he would be there until I walked into him in the kitchen that afternoon. Our friends spent the day nervously hovering as we caught up and suddenly fell back into our old affectionate ways. Hours later, when his friends were leaving, he glanced at me before telling them he was heading home later. In the early hours of the morning, his tall frame followed me to my room and pulled me toward him behind the closed door.

Our mouths are sore from kissing and he is holding me against him. I'm thinking back to being curled against each other on weekend mornings and exchanging sleepy kisses. But this moment is different. He can't convince me he has it all together anymore, because I know. I have seen him in pain, weak, lost in self doubt, pushing me away.

 I also know that when he asks about my lexapro its not only because he's concerned for me but because he want to see if there is hope for him in going to counseling. I can see that he thinks he's not doing something right, messing up, not meeting expectations.

Later, when we're watching TV with my roommates, he aligns himself to the guy who rides other people's coattails to achieve success. But he isn't. He has never been and has never needed to be. He just can't see it in himself.

When we dated, I felt like I was letting him down. He quested to find my vulnerabilities and seem to reject me when he found them. But now I know that being open scares him.

Lying together under my comforter, I kiss his cheek. I don't trust him enough to even think this is more than just a relapse. That we were just succumbing to fleeting comfort. However, I can't help but to think, to trace the curve of his cheek, to feel the warmth of his skin, to crave the familiarity of our banter and believe that I really do wish this moment means more.

We drift in and out of sleep. My mind seems to be tricked into believing it is all one continuous moment. An endless cycle of affection and sleep and conversations that we have fallen back into without hesitation. Like this is totally normal which, of course, it no longer is or shouldn't be at least.

Through the window, late morning light is beginning to push its way into our small word. Voices drift down the hall and I can hear the hissing sound of my apartment's traditional Sunday morning pancakes.

I sigh into his chest. If we could just keep the door closed for a little longer, keep ourselves buried in the blankets and drown out the world with the whispers meant only for us, I'd be happy.

Every moment is consumed by another moment. They overtake each other with unwavering consistency, resisting our attempts to trap them.

Slowly, we untangle ourselves. We get dressed in my small, warm room and glacially move toward the closed door. I meet his eyes. We press our lips together as if to cling on to the last of this wonderful morning. Bitter sweetly, we seem to be kissing good bye to our complicated relationship, or maybe kissing to acknowledge that we don't know if we're better together or apart because we just can't seem to make either work.

We break a part and pause. I've always loved his eyes. Not just because of their blue color but also because they are framed by his beautiful arched eyebrows and look warm against his skin. For a moment we are on pause. The moment is loaded with possibilities of what could happen next.

I don't know who makes the first move but we break and open the door. We enter the living room and meet the eyes of our friends, with the smell of bacon drifting in from the kitchen. We smile and sit on opposite chairs and they mockingly greet us. They don't see our conflict, our sense of loss.

We can't figure ourselves out in relation to one another so we just don't. We are familiar and yet distant, lost in our inability to explain the most important things to each other and, moreover, ourselves.

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"when I awake, I am still with you." -Psalm 139:18