wondering on a star

when will you call? will you be distracted when you do, or will you be with me, in the moment? i'll be here. the question is, will you? i was hoping you would call when you got out of work. it's half past and i'm giving up. so now i wonder, when will you call? just how much time, and thought, will i get? how much should i expect? how much is fair? how much are you willing to give? in a few days you will be gone. i will still be here. thinking of you. wondering if somewhere out there you might be thinking of me. i miss you already. call me soon. don't wait. we're out of time. make the most of what little we have left.

the telling of a thing is in the details

driving you to Boulder and back was not what i had in mind for a last day together, but nothing has been as i anticipated since i told you how i felt. i had hoped to hole up in your apartment, instead we went on an extended errand. you finalized your travel plans as i stood next to you, the sky spitting rainy mist. i watched the people flood Pearl street, a place i vowed never to return to six years ago, and i felt my resentment slide away. it's not what i wanted, but there was magic in it.

we sat on the patio of a restaurant i used to frequent in high school, and we watched people wait for tables inside while we made ourselves cozy outside. it spat hazy rain as we ate garlic bread and held hands across the table. the mountains, so much closer there than here at home, were shrouded in clouds and mist. they reminded me of a far off land, perhaps China, and they seemed enchanted. it didn't seem like we were in Colorado. i felt like i was on your trip with you for a day.

as we finished our food a marching band came through, playing for the football game that evening. cheerleaders dressed in sunshine yellow, gold pom-poms waving, contrasted sharply against the gray rainy streets. brass trombones waving in the muted and dull light. we laughed at how surreal it all was. we walked hand in hand.

the drive back was a bit more somber. your mood hadn't altered but mine had. i knew this was it. this was our last time alone, and i was taking you directly to work. it wasn't enough. not nearly enough. i reached for your hand as i drove, it was cool and rough.

we rolled into town a little early and we pulled off into a business lot surrounded by trees and parked. we walked hand in hand through the cold. i was shivering with it. you led me through the maze of buildings back into a grassy area overlooking a small lake. you pulled me close, wrapping your arms around me, and the cold melted away. we must have stayed that way for a long time. you kissed me, the way i hoped you would, and i was breathless. i could feel you breathing against me, pulling at my jacket the way i pulled at yours. the way you pressed against me, our bodies tight. then we walked back to my car, you pulling me along by my hand.

you told me about a movie you once saw, a love story. about two people who were surrounded by an impenetrable bubble when they were together. i wondered what you meant by it. we stopped next to my car and you said you'd walk the block to work. i told you i loved you. you told me you loved me too, even though you suspected i didn't believe you. i said i did and i felt you go still for a moment. we pressed our faces together and clung to one another for a while. you kissed me again and some people walked by talking loudly. i laughed nervously. you kissed me again and a tear slid down my cheek. then you said good-bye, and to drive safe. you waved and i watched you cross the street, your figure growing small and dim. then, as you entered the trees on the other side, you vanished into the darkness. swallowed. invisible. like you never existed. and i wept the whole way home.