My Silent Affair

I let us lie side by side. I didn’t know him. We were complete strangers before tonight. One could say I did know him, very well, but I just never saw his form with my mind until tonight. We are left in this dark room. I lie rigid at first. His right leg stretched over mine, his hand searching my waist, moving across my belly. Then slowly, softly he sings,

Hold me closer tiny dancer.

Count the headlights on the highway.

Lay me down in sheets of linen.

You had a busy day today.

I touch his hand and kiss his cheek. We lay there, knowing, understanding each other, without movement, without sound.

“Why?” I ask myself. Why do I let him take form?

Eventually, I stop questioning, knowing there would be no answer, at least not yet. I feel my nerves relaxing. I close my eyes. He wouldn’t hurt me; that I’m certain. He was my partner, my other half. His hand, trembling at first, is not threatening, and now it finds repose on my skin. He gave a soft sigh. I could feel his heartbeat calm down.

There are no words and no actions, and there is no sleep though I feel tired. Still I am revived. I am rested. So is he.

Morning comes. The door is still locked, and still there is no sound, no movement. Mercury is rising. The room is still dark though: there are no windows except for a small vent for air. He sweats. I open my eyes. He is looking at me. He says “Good morning,” and smiles the most beautiful smile. He moves a few inches away, giving me space to move and breathe. He hums a beautiful melody.

Afternoon comes. We embrace. He puts his head on my breasts. We finally succumb to slumber. I am his beloved pillow, and he is in turn my beloved doll. I am his ballerina; he is my pianist. He is my Omelas, and I must walk away.

The door opens. He is taken away. He looks at me one last time and smiles. I stay behind. We never see each other again. We didn’t even get the chance to know each other’s name. All I know is that we were one in silence, in that momentary embrace that made us feel unhampered. We were secure; we were intimate – almost dependent on each other. In that moment I was vulnerable, but it was alright, he would not hurt me.

Yes, I walked away because he is a dream, and forever will be a dream. He is not real. I made him up. If I sustain him, breathe life into his mouth, and love him, as I know I tend to, I would die of dreaming. I would have been content, we were perfect, but I know my soul would suffer from misuse. I would have been pouring my love to myself, not to my better half – not even to a real person. Then I would suffocate myself in the room I created. I would have been a coward, afraid of the disappointments, of the heartaches, of the complications. I would have been a fool dreaming her life away.

Yes, he is my lover. He is the specter who visits me at night. Then my mind pushes him away. My mind removes him from that little room in my imagination, because he is not good for me. I can’t be dependent on him. It pushes him away into these words where he could take form but could not harm me. He is my perfect lover, and so he must not win over me, for he would haunt my every relationship. He is my paradise; but the price would always be too much, even more important than utopia – life.

Works cited:

Elton John. Honky Chateau. Island, 1996.