I met him in the gray light,
In the backstreet,
In the sinking sun.
I found him there in a black windbreaker and the saddest look I'd ever seen on anyone's face. He told me that things never worked out for him. I told him that maybe he just needed a change in perspective.
He held a book I'd been dying to read,
Craving to hold,
Longing to experience.
He handed it to me with the complete absence of care, without even a glance in my direction. Sitting there on the curb, I could almost see his vagrant thoughts forming a protectivr barrier around him.
I thought of him in the days that passed,
The weeks that followed,
The month that transpired.
He finally looked at me and asked if the book had made any sense. I said, "I don't finish unless I understand." "Then it took you a while." He smirked. And I added that what intrigued me most was the side notes he scribbled onto certain pages, and how dark his mind must be.
He blushed,
He shrugged,
He turned away.
He showed up outside my school, explaining that he didn't know exactly why he was there but supposed he had been waiting for me. I swallowed hard and we talked as he walked me home. I wondered what this meant.
Soon he became routine,
Habit,
Norm.
We became regulars at the coffee shop on Rose Street. We went on bike rides and walks in the park. Leaves fell and birds flew in a special pattern across the sky. It was always late afternoon.
We spoke in low whispers,
In tones of sarcasm,
In multitudes.
Somehow our thoughts were always incomplete. I asked the questions and he supplied the answers; searched for them in the dusty corners of his brain. He acted like he knew everything but I could see the curiosity in his eyes.
He was just another explorer,
Adventurer,
Traveler.
And he kissed me for urging him to take the first step out the door. He said he knew now why he'd been waiting for me that afternoon. He had been staring at a dark cloud and I was his silver lining. He asked me to stay, if it wasn't too much trouble.
I held him in the gray light,
In the backstreet,
In the sinking sun.
I told him that I was no angel and that I hadn't come to save him. I was not a crutch meant to hold him up, but we were two planks of termite-infested wood that needed to lean into each other to keep us standing.
He blushed,
He smiled,
He sighed.
We kissed again in the waning light. And that's when I knew, I loved him.
