The Rift
by Cynthia Pinto
She
detachment
from something right
not even right, just not wrong
like a seagull flying close to the water discouraged to swim
starving for fish
Me
swimming with the past
catching it with bare hands
willing to share
eating alone
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College Eight, A. Elliott, Prose.
I saw you. I wish to God I could say we saw each other. That our eyes met across the room, our hearts stopped beating, our breath caught in our chest, half way in, half way out. I want to say that you came to me and cupped my face in your hands, our eyes locked, and that you said sorry, a thousand times without saying a word. But I know what really happened. I was drunk, but I can’t pretend. My legs didn’t stop moving from the moment I saw you to the moment I threw myself around your neck, my last ounce of dignity waving goodbye. I felt those tears; those long overdue tears run down my cheeks and onto your shirt. There’s probably a stain now.
I can’t remember all the details, our meeting replays in my head as a series of snapshots. You; taking me by hand. The door opening. Ending up outside, on the smoking terrace.
I realise now, you didn’t do it so we could be alone, you did it to hide me. So no one would see you with me, to save your own embarrassment. You led me away like a fucking hysterical child that humiliates you.
We stood out there in the cold. I know it was cold because I started the evening shivering. But when I was out there with you, I couldn’t feel it. I had you. In a haze, I order these next images. I know I cried to you still. I think I had your fingers on my cheeks, sometimes wiping the tears away, sometimes smoothing my hair and from your lips could’ve fallen any number of words. We’ll keep those between us. I was apologising, again and again for what I had done to you. I was trying to tell you that whatever I’d done I still blamed you, you self obsessed idiot. When were those messages returned? Those pleas for you to see me, to try and fix things… or at the very least to say goodbye. I don’t think I got through to you though. At that point though, it didn’t matter.
Out on the terrace I thought you loved me. I thought your words were for me. Now I realise; they weren’t for me, they were for you. You eased your own guilt.Time goes by, your selfishness does not. Don’t worry; I look past it all and give you chances to redeem yourself.
I can’t believe I was such a fool. The shame burns my cheeks now, I couldn’t tell anyone who thought I was intelligent, I couldn’t bear to see them look down on me; “silly, stupid girl.”
We laughed, I know that much. I tried to get you to remember the good things about us, and you did know, you did! You kept those memories, those smiles and laughs and jokes, those declarations of feelings. Your arms circled me, a hand on my waist, then on my shoulder, fingers tracing my collar bones. We couldn’t stand still. I was still clinging to you, I had you, again, I wasn’t about to let you go. I couldn’t believe it. You, you of all people, let me love you again. I fooled myself into thinking that you loved me. How could you not? Here we were, proof for me that we had another chance. Falling back into our old ways, skin brushing against skin, re-familiarising after our brief hiatus. We kiss, and it feels so good to have your lips against mine, I’m back where I belong. No one kisses me like you do. Your kiss is the only kiss I’ll ever want. It’s the correct amount of everything, but mostly the main ingredient that I long for, which I can’t find in anyone else, a fixated desire. What hurts so much right now, is thinking I’ll never have it ever again. I had dreamed about your arms, your caress, your smile, your speech. They were all I longed for, the cure for my heartache.
I’m getting lost here; I wish I could see this all in real time, to know that it actually happened and I’m not creating some elaborate fantasy. I’d make you watch it too, and show you every little thing that I felt. I know it wasn’t just me, I know it, I know it.
You looked straight at me, and smiled, I felt your hand tickling my leg, and looked to see you fiddle with the edge of my dress, a lose hold on the material, pulling me towards you. “Kiss me”. And I did. This reunion, those few delicious minutes. How could you do that to me? I was a fool to let you kiss me. I was a fool to let your kisses trick me into thinking they meant something. I loved you. Completely. You were the only thing that mattered. My sweet, gorgeous boy.
Sierra Parsons hails from Culver City, California, and is a freshman at UCSC’s Porter College. Apart from her intense passion for Theatre and being fluent in Spanish, she also enjoys all things aquatic and everything in the creative realm, including playing the piano, singing, and writing music and poetry alike. Back home, she has a sister, a mother, a father, and two fat cats But here in Santa Cruz she finds a humbling magic scattered among the branches of the redwoods, and swears there are fairies and sprites playing among the deer, banana slugs, and other wildlife that are so abundant around campus. If she’s not in class or rehearsal, you can find her sipping a mocha and plotting her next big adventure. She has no fear of failure, only the fear of not doing enough.
winter songs
a collection of poems
