ekphrasis

“Let me down easy /

Though your love for me is gone”

I think it’s built into our romantic selves that one day we’ll see our first loves out and about, and there will be some kind of rekindling connection that will draw us towards each other. That I’ll grab his waist, and he’ll grab my face, and he’ll say he’s missed me, and he made mistakes and he’s sorry, and I say I’m sorry too and that’s that – we go skipping down the street together hand in hand, like no time was ever lost.

But it’s never that easy.

Not until this song comes on with its iconic opening line, and my red gown feels just a little tighter, and the darkened ballroom seems to breathe in and out with every attendee, constricting me and releasing for only mere seconds, and suddenly the champagne has gone to my head, but it’s not like I can leave. For one, I love this song, and secondly, I put in too much damn work into looking this good.

This used to be his favorite song, I remember.  We’d heard it as part of the soundtrack to a horror movie of all things, but it became one of his favorites to play while we swing-danced through the kitchen as the steak pan-seared, and the wine sloshed in the glasses each of us rested in our fingertips. It always felt easy.

And now I’m staring into green jaded eyes, and I stare down at my refilled champagne glass wondering if I’ve truly had enough, but it’s authentic. He’s there. And now he’s crossing the room, his eyes are still focused on me, and I can’t figure out what to do with my hands besides set my own champagne glass on the bar and clasp them together behind my back.

“It’s not lost on me,

Your love for me is wrong,”

Is it, Paolo? I did not need a reminder. But the recollections all seemed to paint over the bad experiences in gold-leafed apologies that I can’t quite remember now. But he’s in front of me now, as splendid as ever. And he compliments my dress and how red has always been my color, and I compliment his suit, but I don’t mention the way his hand is slightly shaking as he carries his own champagne glass, or the way his eyes hold a melancholy yearning in them, for something long past.

We talk for a slight moment before he asks for a dance, which I cannot deny, especially with our song. And then his hand is on my waist, and he’s dancing gingerly as if I’ll break, and his smile is perfect, and this is the way it should have always been. He’s dipping me low now, letting my head fall back in an open-mouthed laugh, then he’s pulling me back up again into his chest, his breath falling onto my face, trying to ask a question he know I’ll have no answer for.

“But this time you’ve gone your way,

So, I’ll go mine,

Out of sight,

Out of love,

Out of time.”

We’re both mouthing the words as we dance, but there is no doubting the sadness laced in-between the extraordinary fun we’re having. I can see it in his eyes.

And now the song is ending, and we’re standing in the middle of the dance floor, hands softly touching, mouths slightly ajar, wanting to say something, anything to break this hurting silence and allow for us to go skipping out the door and down the street hand in hand.

But we know that is not the story meant for us. Not in this lifetime.

So, we step apart, our hands drifting together until the last moment when they fall away back to our sides. And we back away into the surging sea of bodies, smiling slightly, letting strangers break the connection we both convince ourselves still thrives.

It is the easiest both of us will ever be let down.