I drive home in silence. Every streetlight has a smudgy halo around it and no matter how much I blink I can’t make my eyes any less dry, but I keep trying anyway. I sit as still as a statue. There’s still the ghost of an impression against my muscles, a warmth against my skin. I want to disturb it as little as I can, hold onto it as long as possible. A scent hangs around me in the air, caressing my face when I turn onto another street and the pressure in the car shifts.
–
What are you thinking right now?
He poses the question quietly to me as we sit together in the dark and I don’t know what to say. The truth—that I don’t want him to look at the clock. That I know I have to leave eventually but right now I feel like I only could if I were being dragged out by the ankles.
I’m happy to be here, I eventually say instead. Also the truth.
–
From the outside, it’s only an embrace. From the inside, it’s something inexplicable. My guard completely down, I sink into his arms, against his body. No thoughts of what I should or shouldn’t do, no concerns of what anything means, just letting myself hold him as tightly as I want to. I even realize dully that for an unknown amount of time my fingers have been making gentle stroking motions across his back.
I’m leaning forward on my toes a bit across the distance between us so I take a minuscule step closer to straighten up and he responds by moving his arm from above my shoulder to wrap tightly around my waist instead. A swirling, burning tempest of emotion courses through my entire body. Love in its purest, plainest form. A relief so great it borders on a high. And an overwhelming gratitude so immense I can barely breathe through it. There are no thoughts in my mind, no words that could ever convey this feeling, so we just hold each other.
His breathing becomes irregular, a bit jagged for a moment. It’s so very subtle, but I can feel it shuddering through his chest that’s pressed against mine. I turn my face toward his neck, then back toward his shoulder, taking deep breaths with my face pressed against his skin. He leans his head against mine. I’m sure time must be passing, as it allegedly does, but the only proof I really have that the earth is still turning at all is the growing ache in one of my muscles—once again holding on a little too tight.
He comments about the long embrace trying to make up for lost time. But feeling the warmth of him, I know that no matter how long it goes on, it could never make up for it all. For all the time apart, for all the mistakes and all the pain and the omissions and the secrets and everything else in between. No matter when we pull apart, I know it will still be too soon.
The pain in my arm becomes too much to ignore and I lower it, hoping to readjust as he had, but he steps away entirely. The moment has passed. He’s still so close to me, so I can’t don’t look up at his face. We move away from each other, but this time it doesn’t feel like tearing flesh from bone. There’s still a part of me close to him, a part of him staying with me. But it still feels too soon, just like I knew it would.
–
As I drive, the feeling of him in my arms still lingers on my skin, in my bones. Normally, at this point, I would be worrying, aching, panicking. Will there be a next time? What happens then? Can I handle such peace only to have to find the strength to step away? Have I gone too far, shared too much?
Tonight I don’t worry about any of it, I don’t think of it at all. Some part of me seems to have healed. That relief, that gratitude, and that love are all still here with me—the aftertaste of a touch that stays with you long after it’s gone.