I will not stop myself from delving too deeply down our tunnel. Today, I will pause, I will linger, I will hover. I will fast-forward. Pause. Rewind. Volume up. Frame by frame. Pause. Mute. Zoom. Pan out. Replay. Pause…
Today is one of the few days I will allow myself to just teeter over and into the deep end. Truthfully, thoughts of her flash across my mind at least 731 times each day, and I am extremely careful to keep such thoughts restrained. After all, sipping heavily on such sweet memories is a dangerous game when drinking alone.
Seven hundred thirty-one days. Because, naturally, our worlds collided during the February of a leap year. Naturally. Just thinking about that collision makes my chest tighten, my eyes glisten. I can picture that night with crystal clarity. The significance of that night, of course, I was oblivious to at the time. Now, however, I look back and see everything that has happened since that night seven hundred thirty-one days ago. Water trickles from my eyes as the memory washes over me, runs through me.
I will never be ashamed of my feelings for her--never--nor will I ever regret what we were, what we are. My heart still does a triple axel when she is present. My words still won’t manage to come out as coherent expressions. I stutter, I stammer, I struggle. Physiologically, my body betrays me by becoming ridiculously rosy even when I am trying to be silent. Traitor.
The hardest part about it all is the restraint. Some areas have improved;we can make jokes and even eye contact on occasion without my heart launching itself like a grenade at her feet and exploding on the floor. It sometimes manages to somehow stay within its cage. My hands, they are the most difficult to contain; it takes a very conscious effort to keep them from connecting with hers as she draws closer. “Don’t touch her, keep your hands to yourself.” My mantra repeats, over and over. I try to stay preoccupied, head down, not daring to look at her directly, and end up picking at my fingers until there isn’t much remaining. That tends to be more socially acceptable than sitting on them, I’ve noticed. Even without that, though, even with the restraint and the steps taken to keep myself in check, the heaviness of our past, our present, our future---weighs heavily in the air, thick between us. Something indescribable connects us. The way we fell in love...I remain. God, do I remain. And though I do try my very best to describe it, I cannot adequately dissect that feeling...that magnetism, that subtle but consistent pull that takes maximum effort on my part to resist each and every day, each and every night, every keystroke, every breath.