I am the hug he gave. I am the time he touched my lips, wanting more. I am the kiss he planted on my forehead before he walked out of my hotel room, wanting so more.
He came into my hotel room so we could download files together; I knew what he wanted. I felt OK with his quiet demeanor, this boy that didn't have the patience for small talk and would never let a girl open a door on her own. He said half a dozen times I was beautiful throughout the day and from him, even if I didn't believe him, I hadn't heard it in so long- the way he said it- I let it soak in. I told him thank you. Some are afraid. They think I hear that phrase all of the time. He was not afraid. He spoke quietly what he saw.
I was tucked into bed in my cotton flannel pajamas. He came to lay next to me over the sheets. For the first time in my life I was present enough to feel someone else's emotions- his- and mine too.
He had laid his head on that pillow parallel to mine, eyes matched. He didn't assert himself, just laid there watching me.
"You're a good man" I said. He looked as if maybe if he had been a bad man I would have let him in.
"It's a good thing" I said, tucking myself even deeper into the sheets. We stared into each others soul for an eternity. I took that. I needed that. I needed something to know that I am worthy of this. I am worthy of love.
Nothing changed. Only the blinking of our eyes.
"I won't do anything with you" I said squinting my eyes and trying not to grimace... and as quietly and as kind-hearted- still lost in his brown wells of emotion- I whispered "I don't know you".
He understood. The first words I spoke perhaps that night that he understood, because as he stared into my tear-streaked eyes, stared at my form tucked under those white sheets I could see it in his eyes too. He didn't know me.
I am the hand he placed on my back, not saying a word. I am the time he touched my lips, wanting more. I am the kiss he planted on my forehead before he walked out of my hotel room. I barely heard him as he apologized for my heart being broken. He turned out the light for me and I listened as the door clicked closed behind him.
He wanted affection. I needed affection. I needed to feel a strong masculine form of connection. I needed a strength, a tangible-- let me hold you, are you OK?-- strength.
I am a woman. And even in my moments of weakness, I am strong.
