Never Forget

I have every word written down on paper so I never forget. But not the things that really matter. Like the way his black eyes got heavy and deep when his solid body pulsed in mine. I think he could see my soul, feel my soul as it fell out on the bed and made me light. Lifting me closer to him. And I was so at peace, so loved that I couldn't close my eyes. The way the drop of sweat on his brow glittered like a tear. The way my finger shook when I brushed it away and I felt like a woman and a girl, at the same time. Like I could hold all of his hurt. But it was him holding me, me who shook. 

There were times when his love and mine could not be expressed in words. I don't have the vocabulary. All I can say is that it was love. Maybe the kind that sinks real deep in your head and messes up your vision so all you see is him. And little details too, the kind that don't matter, the kind that happened to be there in your peripheral vision when you felt his love. Like the moss green sheets that were tangled between my legs. The stick of the door when he walked in the room and the way I was sitting there in that old rusty chair, waiting for him.

I used to get angry that he didn't say I love you. He told me he said it silently all the time. And he did. Love was everywhere. In the green sheets and the chair where I sat. In the sweat on his forehead. It was mostly in his eyes. In those dark eyes that had seen many girls and loved many women and held all their souls in his hurt. How can I write that down on paper? It is beyond explanation. To love and be loved. To remember what matters. The beautiful things seen and felt but never heard.