You want to cry.
I see it in the glistening of your eyes. The way you blink rapidly, hoping the shutters will keep your tears at bay.
You need to look on the bright side.
You need my help, finding it. This bright side. I see your plea, naked and prostrate before me.
I want, desperately, to help you see it. I’d do anything. Anything to take that pain from you.
I wish I could point it out on a map. Reach out with my open palm, and let you see it in the way of the stars…..but all I see, are stars.
I avert my eyes.
I fear you’ll look into them and see my truth. I hope that by looking away, I turn my back on the plea in yours.
It works. I don’t see it anymore.
I hear it instead.
In the muted tone; in the words too controlled to be you. You want to sound aloof. As if the Grand Canyon sits between you and the emotions you’re fighting. I hear it because I’m trying to bring the Grand Canyon between us too.
Not you and I. No way.
But the hurt in your eyes; I want it nowhere near me.
I feel your hand on my arm. An attempt to scoff at the chasm between us. To show it that super glue has nothing on the proximity of our souls. Maybe it is true. Maybe super glue is jealous of us. Maybe it wishes it could be us.
Maybe this…maybe that…
Too many grey areas, it’s actually easier to point out the areas that aren’t grey.
The hurt in your eyes? Definitely not grey.
The hurt in mine? Definitely not grey.
Two little dots of black, sitting proudly in the pupils of your eyes and mine.
For miles on end, all else is grey. I think maybe the bright side is grey. Perhaps that’s how it keeps itself concealed.
Something I really should muster the courage to master. Like, right now. This heart on my sleeve needs a hiding place. Somewhere grey. A cave in the mountainside.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll bump into the bright side in there?
Maybe I’ll drag it by the ear, and bring it to you.
Maybe I’ll wrench a promise that camouflage shall no longer be its cloak.
Maybe it’ll fall at your feet and spring hope to your heart.
Maybe this…maybe that…
Right now though, the biggest, most pressing thing on my mind is this:
How do I do soothe your soul, when mine is on fire?
How do I tell you that I can’t see it either?
I try to shake off your hand. It won’t budge. Your grip tightens. You tag, almost urgently.
I drag my two blacks back to yours. You nod. As if to say:
It is not out there
It is right here
In this moment
In this knowledge that I have you
That you have me
Two people trying so hard find the bright side for each other
Totally missing the fact that
That is the bright side.