Coppery silence fills my mouth like the tang of blood from a busted lip. The forward momentum stops at the turning of a simple phrase. This intimacy kills you; I can feel it welling up. My heart beats in my chest; pounding against my ribs. It starts to hurt. It feels like the drumming is so hard it will shatter my ribcage itself.
I look away, staring blankly at the carpet. I don't even see anything in the fibers, but it doesn't stop me from trying. I want them to have the answers. I want them to tell me what is supposed to be there, what I am supposed to say.
My words are caught. They churn in my mind like the bile burning the lining of my stomach. I stay. I can't help myself. I lay there, on your bed waiting for something. I'm trying to decide what "something" is.
'It is your move,' I think smiling to myself, 'this is a chess game. Someone has to win. One king has to fall.'
You seem adrift on a torrential sea of thoughts. You watch me, waiting for that something that I am waiting for. We are planning that next move. The next words to come from our mouths. We say our chosen phrases, like a drunk vomits, it is messy and at times violently against better judgment.
I'm not sure what you wait for, but it feels like I can't give it to you. So you wait, and I wait. The silence festering between us. It will fill you with more of your bitter rage against humanity. It just makes me wish I had more to give to you.
I raise my eyes to meet yours. You are studying me. You are trying to figure out me and my motives. You want more from me. I don't know if I have it. I wait keeping eye contact with your questioning gaze. I wonder if you have puzzled me out yet. Your eyes wanted so much more.
I know I don't have more. I let "it" drop. It shatters against the floor. I am staring at the carpet again. It is still the same brown it was at the beginning of the night. I can't help not looking at you. You and your expectation. I don't know what it is you are expecting, but I want to give it to you.
You ask me to leave, check and mate. I lose. Tonight, my king falls. I leave my defeat to the wind. I might win next time. For now I leave it.
My heart is tumultuous. I'm not sure what I didn't give. I cross the few feet to the door and plaster an all to real smile to my pretend face.
This conversation never happened. It was a dream that happened one night. It couldn't be remembered, it didn't happen. Your win is short lived and bitter. My loss will be even shorter lived and forgotten. All the losses I've had were forgotten. Why remember the things you couldn't help lose.
I smoke my cigarette by myself and think. What could go wrong with thinking? Apparently, everything.