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LJ Idol Week Six - Sunrise
Nov. 30th, 2009 11:26 pmWe sit in darkness, munching trail bars we made together last night. You reach for my hand, and I give it knowing it may be the last time. We've had many firsts, and we've begun to have our "lasts," now, too.
Seven weeks, a moment stolen out of time.
I scuff my boots against the rock, listening to the scrape of stones as they skitter down the rockface beneath us. "I'll come visit you, later this summer," you say.
Maybe you will, but I already know it won't be the same. I'll be back in the real world, my reality, of school and friends and family and life. I say nothing, but squeeze your hand. I want to stay in this moment; I don't want to think about what is going to happen next.
The sky is turning grey. Some of the stars are too faint to see.
"What is your favorite memory of Colorado?" You ask, just to get me talking. You don't like silence, and I understand you need to fight off your melancholy with words.
"Hiking Audubon, probably," I answer, but I know you need more than that, so I elaborate. "I don't know if anything else in my life will ever quite compare to that experience."
"I've been to the top of mountains before, but the view from that one was pretty spectacular." You lean over, rub your lips against my hair. "So's the view right now," you say, and I feel my heart breaking open, a burst of pain and need and sorrow like the paintbrush smear of pink and orange and gold bursting over the far horizon. I look away from the sky, up into your big brown eyes.
"It's ok, I guess," I tease, and you lean over to kiss my mouth. After a moment I turn away, looking back out to the sky. "My last Colorado sunrise."
"Will you come back next year?"
I wonder if my answer will influence yours. "Maybe. I'll be graduating next spring, so I probably won't have time."
"I've still got a few years before I finish my MFA, but I might do summer stock at home." Hedging, just like me. That's ok. Maybe we both need the lifeline: the belief, however false, that what we have between us can somehow continue.
A red sliver appears above Boulder, thousands of feet below us. You put your arm around me, and we hold on to each other as we watch the sun rise.
(this entry was written for my week 6 entry to LJ Idol)
Seven weeks, a moment stolen out of time.
I scuff my boots against the rock, listening to the scrape of stones as they skitter down the rockface beneath us. "I'll come visit you, later this summer," you say.
Maybe you will, but I already know it won't be the same. I'll be back in the real world, my reality, of school and friends and family and life. I say nothing, but squeeze your hand. I want to stay in this moment; I don't want to think about what is going to happen next.
The sky is turning grey. Some of the stars are too faint to see.
"What is your favorite memory of Colorado?" You ask, just to get me talking. You don't like silence, and I understand you need to fight off your melancholy with words.
"Hiking Audubon, probably," I answer, but I know you need more than that, so I elaborate. "I don't know if anything else in my life will ever quite compare to that experience."
"I've been to the top of mountains before, but the view from that one was pretty spectacular." You lean over, rub your lips against my hair. "So's the view right now," you say, and I feel my heart breaking open, a burst of pain and need and sorrow like the paintbrush smear of pink and orange and gold bursting over the far horizon. I look away from the sky, up into your big brown eyes.
"It's ok, I guess," I tease, and you lean over to kiss my mouth. After a moment I turn away, looking back out to the sky. "My last Colorado sunrise."
"Will you come back next year?"
I wonder if my answer will influence yours. "Maybe. I'll be graduating next spring, so I probably won't have time."
"I've still got a few years before I finish my MFA, but I might do summer stock at home." Hedging, just like me. That's ok. Maybe we both need the lifeline: the belief, however false, that what we have between us can somehow continue.
A red sliver appears above Boulder, thousands of feet below us. You put your arm around me, and we hold on to each other as we watch the sun rise.
(this entry was written for my week 6 entry to LJ Idol)
