Tip Tapping Through My Fingers

The divine question is that of commerce. The truism is that of force. Trembling in the echoes of where we find ourselves in the morning at those last gasps of night air, awoken by dim light leaking through her web of eyelashes.

The last night of trembling chaos lets go and the new day shows what it’s made of in the embrace of our knowing. We show them what we’re made of…the remembering of days let go and the new moon on the horizon.

She looks around to see where the chaos drained her. She remembers the look on his face when he left and knows that one day he’ll return, in the guise of a different face. The new mentions of his longing dripping from his fingers and his wandering eye to the clock on the wall. She lets go of his hand and doesn’t look back as he sighs his knowing sigh that means he feels he’s right.

He can’t remember a day that didn’t sound like an echo of silence. He can’t remember a day that she didn’t crush him. Isn’t it funny…how two different tales can find their own life in one experience?

He never truly knew her, not really.
He never got to know her, not really.
She’s not the girl she used to be, not really.
She was never the girl she thought she was, not really.

And yet they think they know.

They think they get something that no one else does, they think they get each other when really they couldn’t be further from the truth.

He doesn’t listen to the trains the way he feels the rain. He doesn’t mention his trembling versions that he left on his desktop long ago.

She doesn’t know that he’s really a trembling tiger waiting for a plane, to take him far away from everything he’s ever known. She wants the same thing, to never be seen for what is really happening in her clothes.

It’s not the pretty thing that she thinks she is, it’s more raw, more real, than she could ever allow. It feeds on flesh and rights the direction of flight. It moves underneath her everything and doesn’t even know her name. It can’t see straight ahead for it doesn’t really exist. It’s just a wandering of her imagination feeding on everything in her path. It pushes away the nightmares but does the same to dreams. It pushes at her constantly, never really breathing the same air. It’s her long lost friend and the one she never wanted in the first place.

Ahh...the dichotomy of self actualization. The new burgeoning current flowing beneath her palm.

Good night they say as they reach for their alarms.
Goodnight they say as they grasp each other’s hands.
Goodnight they say as the tip their hats out to the rain.

For they know they will not see each other in light of day. Tonight is all that’s left. Tomorrow their eyes will open to the world in front of them, and the other will be gone. Sentenced to the areas beneath their noses. Smelled but long forgotten just as if they never were. But we know better and really so do they, but someday…yes someday they’ll get it all.

Someday they’ll understand.