All I Wanted

I didn’t lure you; you just knocked quietly and came in. Your smile was something beyond delight; it was sheer heaven to me. Then you lay on my bed and eased into repose. I just sat and watched. I could have acted, maybe I should have, but I didn’t. In my mind, I climbed on, and just smiled into your smile. I wanted to hold you, feel your warmth, and press my face into your neck. I wanted you to put your arm around me and hold me at your side. I wanted more than I will ever have.

But that’s all I really wanted.

In reality, we are standing. I put my arms around you, as I often do, and you responded in kind. You embraced me in a tight response that indicates as much need as giving. I feel your need, and I take what you give. I told you it need not be so tight, and I put your arm around my back. You allowed me, trusting. I gently put my arms around you again, and lay my head on your chest.

I said, “This is all I need.”

I feel your hand on my back in momentary ease, then a stiffening of cautious indifference. I sense a multitude of feelings race through you, though you stand in utter stillness. I don’t want this unease for you, so I let go.

Again and again.

I know you. I have seen you in my dreams so many times. In another time, another place, we could be. Is it your quiet strength, those soulful eyes, or is it the hidden softness that very few have ever seen? These are the very qualities I search for, and there, right before me you stand. But it is not to be. Something so strong, something so close I can touch it, eludes me.

Over and over.