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Coming Home Early "I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I just.. I didn’t understand what you needed from me." "But why? Why did you do it? You continue without pause. "I just… there’s no excuse. But I’m not used to being with only one person." You look away, ashamed of the explanation, maybe realizing how it only rubs salt in an open wound. "You betrayed me." You jerk back, as if hurt by the thought. But *you’re* the one who’s done the hurting here, not *me.* I think we both know it was your fear that led you to do what you did. Fear of commitment, or caring, or love, or whatever. "It wasn’t like that. I didn’t do it on purpose. I mean, I did, but I didn’t plan it, and I certainly didn’t mean to hurt you." You’re on your knees in the grass and dirt, head bent as if in supplication. I know you’ve come here to ask me to forgive you. But I don’t know if I can. Just when everything was going so well… I could have sworn we were really going somewhere with the relationship. It certainly felt that way. But… it obviously wasn’t like that for you. I came upon you… and my trust was shattered. My self-confidence. I thought everything was fine, great, even. But if you could… be-betray me like that, then I obviously can’t trust *anyone.* Not even myself. Maybe especially not myself. But I only whispered, "I guess I’m just not the only one for you. Like the way you are for me." But you look like you haven’t even heard me. Maybe you’re too lost in your own thoughts. There’s a light breeze and it ruffles through your bangs, making them move against your forehead as if they were alive. Your braid, trailing over your right shoulder, is still; too heavy to be moved by the wind. But the ends, coming out from the band that holds it all together, brush back and forth a bit over your black sweater. Your black jeans are molded to you, hugging the smooth, straight line of your body. You look so nice today. That was my favorite outfit of yours. I wonder if you knew. It would be just like you to try to win some points with your body even as you come to ask for forgiveness. And even though I feel betrayed by you and angry at you, I can’t help but admire you and your body. And I still love you. How can I? After what happened…? ~~~ flashback ~~~ "You know I’m gay, right?" You asked me. "Yes." I answered. Then you asked if it bothered me. And I told you that it didn’t. Then you asked me – hypothetically – if it would bother me if a gay guy had a crush on me. And I said it wouldn’t. Then you asked me if it would bother me if this particular gay guy had a crush on me. And I told you that it wouldn’t. Then you asked me if it would bother me if this particular gay guy kissed me. And, without hesitation, I said it wouldn’t. And you kissed me. You brushed your lips against mine. A soft teasing thing that left me aching for more. You must have seen it in my eyes or my face because you used your tongue, probing at my lips, seeking entrance. And I opened for you. Literally and figuratively. I opened myself for you, to you. And you plunged your tongue in, searching my mouth, overloading my senses with your sweet caresses. I didn’t want to break away. Ever. I never wanted to part from your sweet and exciting mouth, I never wanted to say goodbye, I never wanted to move from the spot I was in right at that moment. But we both needed air, so we broke apart. You licked your lips and smiled at me. It was my first kiss. +++++ I came home early. It sounds so cliché, but that’s because it’s tried and true. You weren’t expecting me, obviously. And I walked into the apartment we’d started sharing and opened the kitchen door to get something to eat… and I saw you. With someone else. I don’t even know who and it doesn’t really matter. Your pants were still on, but unbuttoned. I don’t know if that really makes a difference. But you had your head in his lap, his hands were wrapped around the back of your head… I was stunned motionless. For the first time in my life. Actually, the second. The first was my first kiss. Maybe it didn’t mean that much to you, but it meant everything to me. But I pulled out of it when you looked up and said my name. I turned around and left. You scrambled after me, but I got in the car and sped away. I came back later that night and told you that I didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t argue. I slept on the couch. The next morning you went to work. I didn’t. I made a mistake. ~~~ end flashback ~~~ But love doesn’t fade so easily. Even when people mess up. It’s funny, isn’t it? I just realized it myself. I actually *do* forgive you. You can’t make someone love you. It was a misunderstanding. If either of us had given it half a chance, something might have grown from it. After all, our lives were stretched ahead of us. The war was over and we weren’t living for the moment anymore. It might have worked out… But I don’t know if either of us realized that. In fact, I’m sure we didn’t. Otherwise this never would have happened. +++++ You didn’t come home early. You should have. Like I did once before. Maybe things would have been better if you had. Then again, maybe things would have been worse. There are worse things than being dead. You might have stopped me, but we’ll never really know. I was already gone when you came home. I remember seeing your face, full of pain and loss. And betrayal. Like mine when I came home early. I don’t know if I wanted you to feel that way to get back at you or if I thought you wouldn’t feel that way anyway. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the time. I shouldn’t have done it. But I can’t change it now. And you’ve come here for me to forgive you. And I do. But now you need to forgive yourself. I wish I could touch you. Just one more time. You’re clutching the flowers you brought with you – daffodils, my favorite. But your head is still bowed… and you’re crying. But I can’t do anything. I can only stand here and watch. And I know that, whether you come home early or late, I’ll be here, waiting for you. +OWARI+ |