things that make it hard to swallow

received a message from richard this morning. a boy i’ve not thought about in too too many years. captain of the rugby team. the visceral incarnation of the word sinew. soft spoken. gentle. and on my list of general regrets. of people i didn’t give half a chance. of people i treated with malintent and disregard. he had occasion to cross paths with some of our long ago mutual friends. i was asked after. inquired about. but we’ve all lost track. some of us with more purpose than others. no one knew what had become of me. and so he set out – and wrote to say that he still thinks about me after all these years. and that he considers those memories fondly.

there’s something about the recollections, now, that i can’t seem to shake off. the weight of his thick curly black hair between my fingers. the way his voice danced on my skin like an ancient drumming whisper. the blackest eyes of perfectly polished stone. of how there were times that i wanted to peel back his skin – entangle myself within the constricting muscles – to become part of the beautiful machine that made him work.

mainly i think about his lips. and how he always tasted of bitter-sweet cinnamon. makes me want to roll my own lips in against one another. apply pressure. bite the tip of my tongue. mainly i’m just thinking about kissing.

and i know, in spite of it all, it isn’t really him that i miss. it’s the feelings that get lost sometimes when we’ve forgotten to pay attention.