“I like your new shirt” I will find myself saying every so often, even though you have worn it four or five times.
I also like your new haircut. You know? The one you have had for a month?
What about the tailor cut suit, new cuff-links and bow-tie you wore when we were at dinner. Wait, it was a bow-tie right?
The details and intricacies of your attire will not come to mind when I talk about you or to you for that matter, and in your own way I may seem aloof to you. Somehow you made peace with this and thought that I did not care for you as much as you did.
The dates, names, new hair and the change of style were noticed the first instance I made them. Every detail was in your heart.
I did not see you walk in the room, neither did I hold your hand let alone talk to you. But I will know when you are in the room, I will hear your smile and warm skin, walk by as I stare intently in the opposite direction, far even from my peripheral view of you.
The beaming smile in the stark serious face, the feigned passion in your speech, the gentle grin in your harsh words and the pain in your heart in the tainted sarcasm. I will see you cry on the inside, in the giggles and the, “I am okay” generously dished out. You will walk in the room and your presence will shift the atmosphere in my heart.
Plus I know that if you give me time, I will be able to scent you. Maybe you will scent me too.
With time I will notice your shirt two months later and your birthday four days ago and at the same time the split second difference in the change of emotion in your heart and eyes. Even when you perfect the art of ‘being okay.’
Just when you thought you were invisible to me, I was acutely aware of your presence, the steady pulse of the passion and the core of your heart. The words you yearned to leave your lips? I could tell where they were cut off: the soul, the mind or the will. I knew what you wanted to say and when you spoke, it was like dejavu because I knew what you would say.
When you look at me and say, “I love you” with every detail of my life in the palm of your hands and gifts from your heart, in my mind I say, “I scent you too” but social conventions cause me to say, “I love you too”
I scented the peace that walked in the room when you did. I scented you and every nerve and feeling felt by me too. Without looking at you, even side glances or touching you, I knew you.
All this is in my head as you say a casual ‘Hi’ and I say ‘Hi’ back and we fleet on to other conversations with seeming friends who are strangers, and some closer than family, all the while believing I didn’t see you, while here I am, aware of the difference in the language we speak.
Both feeling neglected and ignored. The different drums of yearning called us to the same place. How do we speak to each other then?
Like every human does.
We walked away.