The silence

34.

"But I love your feet

only because they walked

upon the earth and upon

the wind and upon the waters,

until they found me." Pablo Neruda

***

I stayed on that cold porch shivering with my arms wrapped around myself, long after he walked away, never once looking back. Long after the rabbit left a trail of faint smoke behind. Long after all trace of his visit vanished into the night. I watched with my tears dried. My heart tore open.

He was gone and I was alone—again.

I didn't know how much time went by when I finally got back inside. The living room was silent, Mom and Dad nowhere to be seen. I suspected they both heard the whole separation episode. Dad must be delighted. At least, they had the courtesy of not commenting on it, not showing their faces. Somehow, I was thankful. I wasn't sure I could speak without breaking into a million tiny pieces.

I climbed the stairs each step taking a tremendous effort and went to my room. My chest felt hollow. He went away, he carried everything that was alive inside me. I couldn't help thinking about what he said. Our love was unhealthy. Was it? I wouldn't tell. It was the only thing I knew. The only thing I held on.

At the very moment of my birth, I could sense my one and only. How amazing can that be to always feel secure and to never worry about walking this earth searching desperately for him?

"Jacob," saying his name is painful. The imprint as strange as it might seem for others, was natural for me. Nothing could compare with how I feel in his presence. Our souls were in tune. Society condemns our love. Everything is an obstacle from my own parents to my own body.

I slipped under my blanket still shivering. I doubted anything but his arms would warm me. But he must be far by now. Still, we breathe, and we look at the same sky. We pray to the same moon.