Janessa Alexis

His truth is found in the curve of his lips and the crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

He’s not beautiful. His forehead slopes too far forward over thin brows, lending to a stern look, remote and serious. His eyes are dark, beady. Seemingly depthless. There’s a gap between his two back teeth, curious in their asymmetry. His jaw is cutting and angular, uncompromising. Overtly masculine. His hair falls past his shoulders, tightened at the crown, to reveal two flints of gold dangling from his lobes, glinting in the sunlight. He’s at once controlled and wild. Entirely self-possessed. Intimidatingly untouchable.

There’s nothing about him that’d normally draw my eye. He’d be a face among many.

But then he smiles. And is transformed. It would gentle his features, soften his demeanour, his eyes disappearing as his cheeks stretched to accommodate the curves of his joy, such unrestrained, uncomplicated happiness. It was my undoing. Jarring me every time, making me pause. Igniting inside me a familiar burn. I know him. I know this man. I recognize this feeling.

He’s everything that’s never belonged to me.

He’s so uncomplicated. Easily amused, piercingly charming. He radiates with light, flooding your senses, senseless against the current of his boundless energy. He’s unrestrained. Lewdly so. He gives himself freely to others, secure in the knowledge that he could walk away at any moment, his shoulders no heavier for the trauma or treason laid upon him, head held high, beholden only to God Himself. He allows no judgement against his character. He knows that you only tally the receipts at the end of your life.

I didn’t stand a chance against him.

–

Women are liars. We act cool. But we burn hotly. And there’s nothing more addictive than having someone stoke that fire. Delight in its heat. Marvel at our warmth.

His singular interest in me was heady. Unexpected. He validated all of the parts of myself often overlooked by others. Uncovered crevices in my character that I’d kept from the sun, bringing them into the light with a confident touch. Nobody had ever handled me so boldly. I always felt naked in his presence. Shy in his certitude. I felt like there was nothing I could hide from him, those depthless eyes peering into the deepest parts of me.

He’s steadfast in his correctness. Honest to a point of cruelty. He had the distinct capability of finding a cut healed beneath layers of skin and years of progress, thumbing it with a quirk to his lips. He never means to harm, but he’s sometimes heedless of others, careless, callous. Abrasive. It’s almost as if we’re not even real people to him.

It was only at the end that I thought to protect myself. That I drew my clothes around myself and receded away from his brilliance instead of basking in it. The shift in our dynamic was minute, but calculated. A countdown had begun. I wanted to collect the pieces of myself that I’d so thoughtlessly left in his possession, desperate to erase the imprint of myself from his life. I didn’t want him to have any part of me anymore.

Not when he’d never once surrendered himself to me.

Sometimes I almost don’t believe he’s a real person. I’ve made him into something larger than life, an amalgamation of all of my guiltiest desires bleeding into one man. These days I catch myself staring absentmindedly out the window, frozen in the memories of the past, replaying moments of consequence, mapping out the place where I got lost and chose not to turn back. And the more my mind traces its fingers over these images, the blurrier they become. My heart hangs heavy with the knowledge that none of my imaginations were real.

I’d loved him. Really, truly. He made me feel innocent. Hands cupped around my heart, proffering it up to him. And he’d really tried. To do right by me. I’m not cruel enough to lie otherwise. But the reality is that no one should ever hold so much responsibility for your own safety. No one should ever possess the entirety of you. While his intentions might have been good, he was never meant to idle. He was never meant to settle.

A man so used to giving himself to others could never content himself with just me.

I miss the person I once knew, the real one. I want to look upon him and see only a man. Not one who’s hurt me or who maybe loved me. One who is entirely separate from me. A new-found stranger. A chance to become someone other than who he is. Maybe one day a friend. More likely an anecdote.

I still sometimes dream of being his. I imagine a future we could’ve had. The love we could’ve shared. If he’d just let me. If he’d just allowed himself.

And then I wake up.