2003-02-17 - 6:31 p.m.
'it's about mat'
It's about Mat.
""I'd been watching you all night while pounding screwdrivers. I'd been watching, stealthily trying to pin down my moment. Watching, trying to harness my courage. Watching you. Awed by your grace and gentle beauty. It is quiet and quite obvious.
When she finally left your side and I realized I was staring, I approached you. I attacked you. Cornering you on the couch. Vodka rushing through my veins, clouding my mind and switching my internal filter to 'off.'
I stroked your ankle.
Lifted your pant leg to touch your flesh. I'd have never dared touched you anywhere obvious. Anywhere else. There was a forbiddenness to it. To that place. All hidden and easily accessible.
It was you at your core. That place was your essence and I stroked it. I ran my thumb along it and my knuckles. And you let me. You encouraged me by not so much as flinching or batting an eyelash.
I wanted you then. To stroke more than that soft ankle bone. I wanted to dive into you. To touch your facial hair and make you mine. Make you come. Come home with me. Come live with me. Ride with me. Come talk to me. Share your secrets. Spill them out, all gory and enchanting. All raw and beautiful. I wanted to make you come, but mostly I wanted to make you stay. In my arms. In my world where this doesn't have to be so hard.
Because if I know anything, it's that we're kindred. And I wanted to stroke your heart. Your mind. Your ego. I wanted to stroke it all like that small, soft patch of your flesh. All hidden, but so easily accessible.
You leaned into me. Feeling me. Feeling it, too. But that was then. That was our moment. The only one, punctuated by that small touch. Punctuated by your bright eyes and the evilness behind your teeth.
A moment is a moment is a moment in the sun. And you can't have it back. That moment went walking off when you left me there on that couch, my fingers itching to be anywhere but with me. My fingers, my body, my brain wanting you. To be with you. To freeze time. To turn it back. To have that again.
Oh, I know we're kindred, because while my brain may be slow, my fingers, they know. They don't lie. They know and they ache with that knowledge. The knowledge of your flesh. The knowledge of the beauty that could be in that moment stretched out. That one moment long lived.""
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