“if only you could see”

February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 May 2010 June 2010 September 2010 October 2010 January 2011 March 2011 April 2011 May 2011 August 2011 August 2012 September 2012 October 2012 November 2012 August 2013 November 2013 December 2013 January 2014 June 2014 July 2014 August 2014 May 2015 May 2016 June 2016 July 2016 December 2016 June 2017 July 2017 June 2018 November 2020 December 2020 April 2021 November 2021

Those night time bike rides through quiet neighborhoods.

The conscious conversations between two souls.

Life and love and future endeavors.

The hill we rushed down as we picked up speed, and the tough climb back up the other side.

The breakfast you made, the eggs and toast, the cup of tea, and the tears that ran down my face because everything seemed so perfect and yet it still wasn't right.

The music that played as we danced on the wooden deck, minds oblivious to those around us and eyes catching glances at one another, and our feet, making sure we were staying in time.

The stars that fell out of the sky as we laid in the bed of the truck on a gravel road in the middle of the night, eyes looking in every direction, and collectively gasping as they lit up across the sky.

The beautiful voice singing along to the guitar that played as we sat on that metal bench, eating gelato, and feeling our souls inexplicably in sync with theirs.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that revisits these experiences, or is this something everyone does? Am I alone in my reminiscing or is there someone also thinking of them at the same time? There are triggers too.

Matchbox Twenty songs. Bike riding past certain streets. White cars. Silver trucks. They make me happy to remember them. For some of them, I just have to also remember to let them go....

"What about that one?"

I did my best to follow her finger pointing into the vast sky. Warm pinks and vibrant oranges painted across the sky, colors only visible at dusk from the quickly setting sun. The clouds looked like cotton candy stretched out. I told her just as much. A sleepy smile stretched across her face.

"I can almost taste it," she said with eyes closed, pretending to pick it out of the sky and eat it. Head resting in my lap, her hair felt like satin as I ran it between my fingers. We were sitting alone in a field alongside a quiet road. I watched her for a moment longer before looking into the sky again. The pinks and oranges soon made way for the deeper blues and purples. The once playful clouds were now somber patches of gray hung in the sky. Nighttime always came too soon. Seconds turned into minutes turned into hours whenever I was with her.

Crickets and the occasionally passing car made the soundtrack to the bike ride back to her place. The passing headlights would create an aura about her that was best described as heavenly. I sighed as we neared her driveway. We dismounted our bikes and said a few words about the next day's plans before saying our goodbyes. I watched as she started walking towards her door, and I noticed her slight hesitation. She put down her kickstand, and rushed back to me. She quickly muttered about forgetting something, before lightly tugging on my shirt, pulling me down towards her, and her upward, into a kiss. I felt a warmth quickly creep into my cheeks, and myself losing balance of the bike at my side, just as the kiss ended. Her cheeks were just as flushed as she looked at me just a moment longer, before retreating inside with her bike. I rode home with thoughts of warm pinks, vibrant oranges, and hair like satin between my fingers.

Labels: fiction junction

Reaching for your fingertips is a little like trying to keep sand in the palm of one of your hands. The grains spill out between my fingers. Yours brush lightly against mine, but for some reason keep falling out of reach.

Is there something wrong with my hands? I take a good look, turning them over, running my eyes along the lines that make up the relief of my palms. Skin golden from long days spent in the sun. Two week old nail polish chipping away, revealing nails grown out a little too long. A sigh escapes my slightly parted lips.

I look up and you're gone again. You never stay too long. I think I can smell you on my pillow case. Hugging it tight against my chest, I bury my nose in my pillow and inhale deeply. Your scent is faint...or maybe my mind is playing tricks on me again.

I thought I saw you the other day, riding my bike past the café where we first met, but I knew it couldn't have been you because there was some other girl hanging on that man's arm. I tried calling you but you didn't answer. I didn't see you again until the next week, and that's when you told me you'd be leaving. Head tilted, I asked where you'd be going. You gave me a sad smile and the only word that came out was "away." The word echoed in my mind as I stood to reach for your hand, but your fingers slipped out of mine as you walked away, like grains of sand, and you never looked back.

Labels: fiction junction