When Everything Was Daylight, We Were Shadows

Photo by Anatol Lem on Unsplash

I sipped on the whiskey in my glass and watched as he took another drag on his cigarette. His eyes flicker to my mouth. Outside on the patio, the air was still and clear as we watched each other from the corner of our eyes.

We both knew our friendship had long passed the friendly flirting stage, but we hadn’t wanted to mess up anything. He took things apart to see how they work. I broke things apart to see how they hurt. Is it any wonder our ribcages knew nothing but defense?

When he called me for the first time, we somehow found ourselves here again. It was his first time back in the country after his nomadic travels and our promise to go our own way. Every morning, he’d wake up with my heart halfway across the world. It was exhausting to chase after my heart each night, and I couldn’t stand being that desperately addicted to another person’s heartbeat.

I wanted to collect all of his wandering thoughts and tuck them under my arm. He wanted me to stop writing about everything we did, every flaw we had together. He’d gone to Brazil, and I’d gone to Jamaica. I’d been back in New York for two years. He’d been back for two days.

In a city with buildings as high as our childhood dreams, we saw the distance between who we were then and who we are now more clearly. As much as he loved me, he…