Till You’re Ready

You’re still here.  Not as much as before, but you’re here.

You pop in suddenly, like you want to remind me. 

But I don’t need reminders.  I remember you all on my own.

I remember the shape of your eyes, the hue of brown they were, how they shone when you looked at me.

Yes, your eyes shine. 

I remember the smile you didn’t really like, but I loved.  Love.  Still.

And your voice.  I remember it.  And your laugh.  To a tee, I remember.

And your feel.  I remember how you feel when I lay my head on your chest and your heart thumping in excitement or nervousness or whatever it is, but I feel it beating against me and I remember your back muscles and your arms, dear God, why do I remember it just like yesterday?

And then, I wonder if you’re loving, if you’re letting someone love you.  I wonder if you’re touching or who’s touching you.  I wonder who your heart beats for, who’s making your heart beat, who’s got you.

Sometimes, most times, when he’s deep in my walls and I’m closing my eyes and reaching, it’s you above me, you’re helping me reach, you’re helping me get it and get it and get it again.  And it’s your name in my head, your name I see in the darkness of my eyelids, your eyes in my memory, your mouth sucking all the life out of my soul, your teeth biting my lip, your tongue soothing that bite as you moan my name, over and over and over in pleasure.

And when he spills and I adjust my body to accept him, it’s you I’m accepting, you who’s spilling.  And I want to yell out, I want to make you hear me, make you feel me, make you more than just a damn memory.  I want you to feel it, I want you to hear it, I want you to remember.

These damn memories.

They’re here.  They’re not going away.

And I’ll wait.

Until you’re ready.  

For the next time you contact me.  

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