Spilled Memories

[incomplete]

The rain pours and I think of you.

You are the storm that I cannot escape. What a shame it is that not even torrential downpour can wash away memories. You used to touch me the way the sky weeps on my skin. The way your fingertips tip-toed down the spine of my back and hushed the winds of my mouth. It was the summer the typhoon broke the drought. Rivers sculpt valleys into the mountains; rivulets of you carve scars onto my body. 

As the sun parades back into the horizon, I wonder if you would be thunderstruck then to know that I somehow find myself missing the rain.

Take me back to the time when we turned trees into lovers by knotting their branches together. We could never do the same with our arms out of fear of cutting off circulation. So we opted to hold hands as we walked through the woods. And I kept thinking to myself, My what a fine constellation prize, but what I really wanted to win was nestled behind your ribs.

Many would find ways to dress up their desires, to express their love through poetry and terrible metaphors. I couldn’t think this way, not because I thought I was better but because I wasn’t clever enough. So I held your hand while my mouth ran dry as I choked on nothing brought on by nothing, inspired by nothing, but living for something.

Silence rested on our shoulders, breathed down our necks, an attempt at conversation. Words befell me, trailed off into thought, this is a moment when words would do nothing but clutter the air. You must have been waiting, the look of anticipation unmistakable even in the dark.

The pressure to speak heightened with each breath, so I fumbled out the only words not lost among the void. It is getting pretty dark. A nod of agreement, nervous smile on your lips. We look to the sky for an answer, what do we do know? The earth remained still, as if respecting the floor which the clouds now held. We stood without a word, waiting for the call. The sky couldn’t speak. The answer never came.

So we walked from the woods and decided to go home. As we were about to leave our path became blocked by two knotted branches tied by our hands as we arrived. I untangled the branches and our path became clear, and so we left the woods haven broken two wooden hearts.

We came to my house, up the road from yours. Your smile left your face, fallen grace. You had to leave, so you had to let go. And as our hands parted and you walked away, I swore for a second I could almost feel your heart beating.