It’s all a matter of perspective,’ you say. I hide my face within your hair to hide my disagreement even though you can’t see it. I know this fight by heart by now with all its twists and turns. You’ll tell me how it’s gonna be good for me and how it will all pay off if I take just this one risk. You end it all by asking me if there’s not even a part of me that wants it, this change of perspective.
I’d say no. I always say just that and I would move away and it would hurt. I’d stumble in my arguments and you’d let me fumble without showing even the smallest bit of remorse until I hurt myself. Then you’d blame me. You’d blame my stubbornness and carelessness for getting hurt. You’d blame me for not looking at this from the right angle or in the right way.
Don’t really care anymore. I got used to it. What’s still funny though is that out of the two of us it’s you who should be blind towards all the angles and perspectives that the world throws our way. That’s what I would say if I knew that you’d understand. But it can never be as simple as that, can it, darling?
You see things differently than I do and there’s no helping it. For you it’s all a jumble of colors, of perspectives. For me it’s jumble of shades of black and gray. You rarely see eye to eye with me on this…
‘What do you say? You’ll think about it, won’t you,’ you ask. Your fingers curl around my arm as it curls across your chest, pulling you deeper into me. It feels as if you’re trying to tear the promise from my very flesh, make me sign it in blood. But even if it’ll be that way I’ll still hold on. I know you will as well. Heck, it’s too late for any of us to simply part ways.
We’re joined at the hip these days. Or that’s what your friend said. Don’t remember her name though; I think it was the one with the sharp voice. I remember feeling incredibly annoyed when I heard that comment so it must’ve been her. But I don’t mind that, it feels good. Especially when I make you stumble because it always gives me an excuse to catch you. And that’s good, your weight in my arms is good, it’s something we can both see and feel.
You feel my arms supporting you, holding you up. I feel your trust in me, your faith that I won’t let you go or, better said, fall. Both of us feel it, but only I can see it. And that’s the one time we never argue, the closest we ever come to being Swiss about fighting. What would you think if I told you how I feel about what you’re trying to convince me to do?
You argue that it will be for the better but I don’t agree. Nothing’s that bad with how my life is so far. Sure, some parts seem a bit tricky but whose life doesn’t have that kind of ups and downs? ‘You can’t be serious,’ you’d say while you’d angrily tap away at my arm, your fingers drumming to their own beat. But what if I told you the truth?
‘I’m scared,’ I say as I put the ashtray down on the coffee table's corner. ‘Make sure you put it back in its place,’ you’d whisper, a hint of unspoken reproach in your voice. We’re expecting guests so burn marks on the table are a big no-no, especially since it’s all covered in white now. That’s what you usually do when guests are coming anyway. Last time I tried to wipe it away, but I just managed to smudge it. I smiled and everything was ok until that shrew of an aunt of yours pointed out that you’d dropped cigarette ash over the snow white tablecloth you had inherited from your grandmother. ‘People in your condition shouldn’t even smoke,’ she said to you. ‘You shouldn’t encourage her to do what she pleases when she can’t even see what she’s doing.’
Her voice screeched in my ears and all I could see was the tear flowing from your eye and how deliciously painful it would be for me to slap her across that sour face. Instead I just reached out for your hand. I knew I’d find it under the table, idly playing with its counterpart as if searching for an excuse for some faux-pas on their part. I griped their voices and dragged them into silence. ‘It’ll wash away,’ I said.
You remind me of that moment as we sit here together and argue. In your telling of the story I was proud and charming and all sorts of things I never see in myself. In mine I was just angry at her and trying oh so hard not to upset you even more. ‘You said that the smudge would wash away and it did, no?’ It’s only now I see the trap that you are springing for me. Desperate to avoid it, I try to escape. ‘I have to check on dinner,’ I say and try to push you aside.
You get up with that feline grace of yours and I try to run away. I sigh and rise seeking the refuge of the kitchen but your hand gently pushes me back down on the couch. ‘Dinner doesn’t matter, they’re not coming anymore.’ I stop and listen, waiting to hear a reason. ‘I called and said that something came up. Sorry.’ I try to object and get up again but your lips tighten and I find myself simply leaning back. ‘So what now,’ I ask.
You feel your way along the coffee table, your fingers drifting over it. ‘You’ll promise me that you’ll give it a try.’ That’s the only thing you say as you move out of my sight. Don’t need to follow you with my eyes to see where you went. You’ve taught me as much in our time together.
I can feel your lips pressing against my head before they even touch. The weight of your breath gave you away. Next your fingers will start swimming in my hair. I like it when you do that, can’t help it but rub my head against your hand. It’s showing that I’m vulnerable which I never liked, but you showed me differently through your looking glass. Your hand drifts, my eyes close, you move. I feel your weight on my lap, your legs entwining with mine as your fingers run along my face.
Your hair is red and curly; it’s longer than usual since you haven’t found time to get it cut. You’ve been so terribly busy arguing with me that I can’t help feeling anything but guilt as it swallows my face when your lips reach for mine. Their taste is the same as always though you laugh every time I say your lips have taste. It’s true, you know. Mine are a bit bitter and feel harsh. Yours are sweet, they remind me of all the better times, most of which begin and end with you.
‘Isn’t it crazy,’ I mumble as my hands try to capture you in my arms again. It’s silly how clumsy they feel, like they can’t do anything right no matter where they go. Finally they push the hair out of your eyes and show me your face. They run along your brow, eating up every wrinkle. They go down and smile along every laugh line. They trace along your cheeks, your jaw and find only determination.
There are no arguments left anymore. I’ve said them all both to myself and you, but there’s always been a difference between the two of us. What I take for granted you always have to ferret out. That’s how I deal with my lies but you always manage to tickle the truth out of them. Poking and pinching amongst laughter and half hugs, you dig away until only the secret remains and then you drag it into the sunlight. Always one to guide, that’s how you found me and made me yours in the first place.
That first time I just asked for the time. You reached down with your dark stylish glasses and ran your fingers over the dial. I just looked at your lips, took in the maze of lines that crossed across your face as your smiled. I painted it and when I saw it next you still had it with you even though I was sure I stole it and locked it away in on canvas, made it part of my dragon’s horde. I waved and you didn’t notice. A bit later you were asked for the time again and smiled when you looked up. ‘Didn’t you ask me that some other time as well?’ You smiled and stole one of my own smiles too.
It took me ages to figure out why we both looked at things differently and never waved back. That first time you took off those sunglasses was the first time I really saw color. I mumbled for words, you smiled and took my hand. Your face felt warm as you ran my fingers over it. ‘It’s the best way to see someone,’ you said. ‘See here, this is a laugh line and this is from smiling.’ You guided me into a new world and have ever since. Everything’s defined in code and everything has its place in your world and our colors never match.
Earlier we sat outside and talked about how it would look to paint the perfect summer day. Your green was different then mine, it would have a dash more blue to it. Mine would have a bit more darkness at its core. But your view of the world always was more colorful than mine. I paint and talk and you listen and smile but it’s always you that truly sees the painting even before the first brushes touch the blank canvas.
There’s always that same determination in your jaw, the same hushed frown hiding at the corner of your eye. You know colors and shapes like I never will. While others fumble through perceptions, you glide and reach out to take others with you and make them understand. You turn the dull grayness of my world into a blizzard of color with every smile.
Your eyes reach into mine and I get lost. ‘It’ll be alright,’ you whisper with your kisses. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to bury myself in your hair and kisses. ‘I promise,’ I let out between stolen breaths. I know it’s going to be hard and that it’s going to hurt, but you promised to make it feel all better in the end and I’ll trust you to see me through my night and into your day. For now I’ll just watch you through my fingers. I’ll paint your colors from my memories and shun away the black and white and shades of gray.
Your colors and your dreams surround us and protect us but it doesn’t feel right. I think about how things seemed black and white and how now I’d pour my entire whiteness of being into deep darkness just to get the world through your eyes. So I’ll try it and I’ll make promises and in the end I’ll cover myself in silence and lose myself in colors until I build your world inside my paints and lines.
And you’ll listen to what I say and ask me questions that only you saw coming. I’ll try to answer and think of a million right things to say and I’ll fumble right into the wrong one. We’ll argue again, won’t we? You will argue that it’s all ok and me…I’ll say that it’s not and be angry with myself. In the end we’ll end up kissing away the words until you’ve horded them all away. I lose myself in you and you find your words in me and we move on into each other.
The kisses and brushes eat us up and turn us again into ourselves as they slowly crawl into their shapes. And we lie back and try to sleep in our small bedroom with its dark walls and faint lights and I’ll close my eyes and try to see it all like you do, shunning the bleakness by locking it in colors. I’d give anything for you to see me like I see you and I keep on hoping that someone is listening. That somewhere there’s someone that sees and hears all that I hide away from you and will ask me to paint one faint scribbling line in sparkling blood red and give you back the shapes and colors that the everlasting dark stole away from your eyes.
