Call On Me

the promise

"You've got me fucked up, Iris." Were the first words off your lips when I saw you again.

It was almost ironic seeing as I couldn't go a few minutes without seeing your face in my mind, hearing your words, or even feeling your warmth. It was like you were everywhere, constantly reminding me of the pain I had been so careful in avoiding. You just didn't let up and I couldn't choose if I hated you or wanted you more. And yet, I got you fucked up?

I couldn't help as the corner of my lips tilted upwards. My heart was already beating twice as fast as it had been before I looked up from the countertop; the sight of you before me like a haunting dream. Although you weren't recognizable to anybody else (with your grey scarf hiding most of your face), I could see you perfectly.

You sighed, your green eyes staring into mine. "Where have you been?"

Putting away the remaining objects on the display I was reorganizing, I pushed my hand through my hair, "Right here."

You followed me soundlessly like a lost puppy, your chest brushing against my back each time I stopped to put something away in the little shop—making my heart skip a beat each time. It was close to closing time; the usual customers already gone for the day and the last few leaving as I cleaned the remaining mess up. As I locked the doors and pulled the blinds down, you removed your disguise, sitting down at the tiny café bar—your eyes never leaving me.

"I heard you're working on a new album." I spoke, grabbing a two-piece clay teacup and some paint tools.

As I sat beside you, you picked up the saucer; letting me choose the colours. "Yeah," you hummed, fiddling with a paintbrush as your cheeks deepened with a blush, "My label wants me to put out a single within the month."

Nodding, I began to paint the teacup—finding peace in watching the streaks of colours interrupt the piece's blank state.

Watching me for a moment, you let out a pleased puff of air. Dipping the small brush into the blue paint, you fell into silence as we painted.

~~~~~

"I'll keep finding you." You spoke up suddenly, our pottery piece almost finished.

Smiling to myself, your words left conflicting thoughts in my head. Being around you made me feel so alive, but maybe I didn't deserve to feel that way. Maybe I didn't even want to feel that way.

"What if I told you I don't want you to?" I asked, my voice soft as I painted the last needed pink stroke to complete the art on my teacup.

You looked up at me, observing me silently before replying. "Aren't I supposed to put my happiness above everything else?"

Chuckling, I shook my head before glancing back at you, "Do I make you happy?"

You didn't seem to have an answer to that as you frowned in thought. It was cute the way your lips always turned down in a little pout whenever your eyebrows furrowed. You looked like a man that never got to grow up—someone that needed a hand to hold and a voice to listen to.

I knew I couldn't be that for you, and yet I still wanted your eyes to never leave me. Even if I never looked back at you.

"You make me feel a lot of things." You managed to finally say. Pursing your lips, you rubbed your thumb across my cheekbone—removing a paint stain as I closed my eye from the pressure, heat, and chilling sensation all at once. Laughing that thunder-like laugh under your breath at my expression, you pushed my hair behind my ear. "I want to figure out what it all means. Why I feel this way with you."