I havn't seen you since.
Our heads nodded off to the side and we slipped into sleep for a moment. Something opened my eyes and I woke you up too. "Talk to me, keep me up." And you did. We talked of jazz and guitar and photography and sunrise and and surfing and squirrels and bears and things I can't remember because I was swimming in your eyes. We talked until my tired mind was invigorated with intrigue. There was a moment when I looked up and your eyes caught mine and I could hardly continue speaking. I don't know why. I don't know you. I don't know why I don't know you.
We talked until the gradience of the sky started to change, and the light seeped into the room. It took a while for you to notice it, but once you did you jolted up with an urgency. This is what we were waiting for. We threw on our jackets and shoes and you slung the towel and blanket over our shoulders and we ran into the street. When we made it to the cliffs edge we saw the sands below us and the calm ocean fading into the distance between us and the horizon.We stood there in awe of the colors and shared a silence that was a dialogue we both understood. The wonder in your eyes made me wonder of your eyes. I took out my camera and taught you to use it and then we walked down the cliffside till our feet were in the sand. We laid down the towel and laid under the blanket. It was colder than we thought the beach would be; the early morning hours had us fooled. But you were warm next to me, and our arms and legs were touching. Not entwined, but touching like fear and curiosity was tangible between us. So we laid there under the blanket and we waited on the sun. And we talked more about the sunrise and about how the brilliance of color lasts for only thirty seconds and how we would soon see it happen. And we talked about how amazing it was that the cliffs met the ocean and that the surfers were out already and how you have a hard time sleeping at night and we were so lost in each other's words that the sun had rubbed its eyes and began to awaken and we had hardly noticed. But when we looked up we spoke in silence again, inhaling awe and exhaling exhilaration. And you were there next to me and I'm glad you were. And I don't know why. I don't know you. I don't know why I don't know you.
But we took more pictures of the sun, as it straightened it's posture in the sky. It was red and wide and you stared at it until it left those marks in your eyes and we laughed and laid down and spoke as the sun rose and the light became blinding and we didn't care because we weren't looking there. We were not there for the sunrise anymore. You were there for me and I was there for you and I don't even know all the things we spoke of but I know we spoke of them to each other. We spoke of them until the waves crept towards us, crashing closer and closer to our feet and we would laugh every time it startled you out of speaking. The sun was risen and white now, as was the ocean reflecting it. And so we got up and you shook out the towels and blankets and we trekked back through the sand and up the cliff and we made it to the top. And we made it to the room and you set up some blankets and some pillows for us and we laid there like we laid on the beach except much closer now and before I knew it we were asleep and I slept with such ease and satisfaction and peace. I woke when your hand grasped my arm and pulled me closer to you. I looked at you curiously, and you were still asleep, and I thought maybe your action was an extension of something you were dreaming or a subconscious urge but either way I didn't mind. And I moved closer to you and fell right back into my sleep. When we woke I shared my wine and you shared your cigarettes and the last donette and when I left in the crowd you turned and look at me and I haven't seen you since. And I don't know why. I don't know you. I don't know why I don't know you.
But I want to. I want to lasso you in like the rising sun did that morning; I want you to stare at me until it leaves those marks in your eyes.
But I haven't seen you since.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
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