What to say, what to say, what to say. I must say that I cannot see, to say that what I said wasn’t sung but softly spoken, said to no one and everyone in the same breath. Singing, ringing stings my ears, but the sounds swells, and I say that I cannot see the sound, but I sense the song. Can I make you see? See what I have to say, and then we will sing together, that song that sounds from sayers past.
Words fall through me as I try to say what I cannot seem to say. Simple words, but they slink off my tongue, pride bruised and battered before I can say the things that swirl just behind my teeth. He watches my mouth move, but no words come out. He can sense there is something I want to say, but the saying never comes. He hopes, but I give him none.
There is something I need to say. Something no one else can say but me. Something important. Maybe it isn’t big, it isn’t flashy, it isn’t perfect; but it is mine. Something mine. And I say it, with all the force of humanity, all the dignity I can bring to bear, but it comes out in a whisper. A gasp, a slight release of breath. A period at the end of a statement, a declaration of my will imposed upon the page. A monument to all that is us, written for you. They may read it, they may claim it for their own, but this piece of me is for you and you alone. Let them pretend they own it, but what I say is yours. But where to begin? How do I make this clear to you, when it is an enigma to me? I could begin at the beginning, but that assumes there is a beginning. There is now, and now is then and before and next and soon and after and here and it is everywhen. Maybe a story will make this clear. A tale, a fable, a microcosm of our monument. It starts with a kiss. Or rather, the end of one.
His lips burn, the kiss lingers on his mouth as she pulls away. His desire is fierce, but he knows to hold back; nothing will happen yet. Her golden eyes sparkle in the half-dawn light, not quite brown and not quite green, but somewhere removed. They have spent the night together, but it isn’t what you think. She isn’t ready to make that commitment yet; he believes she is a virgin. Time has stopped as he watches her, waiting for her to break the silence. The illusion shatters as her velvet voices vibrates in his chest.
“Tommy, I’ve got to go. You may be cute in the morning, but I have to get to work.” He aches as he watches her mouth twist and turn; the acrobatics of articulation are astounding.
“Fifteen more minutes? Tell them you’re sick, you’ve caught something strong and you can’t go into work.” His grin is meant to be coy, but hunger waits below the surface.
“Fifteen minutes doesn’t seem like a long time, weren’t you extolling your stamina to me last night?”
“I wouldn't want to wear you out too quickly.” He holds her arm. No, he grabs her arm and holds on. His eyes change.
“Were it so easy. You know I can’t just call in like that, that office would burn down without me.” Her smile plays across her face, but something feels off. She is uneasy next to him. He doesn’t notice, but there it is, plain for anyone to see; but only if they choose to.
“Well that’s too bad, I took off today to make room for you. I’ve got a full day of activities planned.”
“And I’m sure they are riveting, but I have no choice.”
“Would you really leave me all alone like that?” He hasn’t let go of her arm.
“You’re a grown boy, I’m sure you can manage on your own. Besides, you told your boss you took off today so you can even go back to sleep.” She is fairly certain he doesn’t have a job.
“Will you call me?” His fingers press small divots into her arm, a subtle moonscape in her chestnut skin.
“I’ll talk to you later Tommy, but if I don’t go now I’ll be late, and that would be disappointing.” She skillfully extricates herself from his grasp. Last night she gave him her old number, so she didn’t technically lie.
“Fine, but next time you can’t leave me all alone Tanya.” His eyes track her as she dresses. Her jeans fit tight across her waist, her shirt fits loosely about the arms and falls delicately across her shoulders. She is nothing short of striking, and Samantha knows it.
“Enjoy your day off Tommy, I’m sure you will find some way to occupy yourself.” Samantha smiles, but that smile isn't for him.
“I’ll be seeing you soon Tanya.” He smiles, but that smile isn’t for her. He sees past her, toward his next conquest.
As Samantha closes the front door, she lets out a sigh of relief; she’s not sure if she could have made a worse choice last night. The club was dark, and he was certainly charming, in a coarse way. He seemed like something she hadn't seen before. Something broken, but strong. He was intriguing, but now she realizes that he was only .
She steps quickly, steps between the here and why. Why does she do things like this?