we act like they don't, but they do. (happen)

Maybe it was the time that she took my hand. Or the first time she looked me in the eye and smiled--but not something I let pass--I mean the moment she first caught my gaze, held it, caressed it, and indulged in the moment itself.

Only these things don't happen anymore.

"I feel it in my bones." she said. It's amazing the way she works the words. The way she shapes them and guides them with those gentle, angelic lips. The light only allowed me to see the right side of her face that night. Portside wasn't exactly the most well-lit place in the world, but seeing that angle--that one specific angle.

God damn.

The hair fell over her left cheek when she tilted her hair forward. She was standing there in that dark coat, with those boots and that shadow. I guess... well, you could say something changed in me that night. I guess I realized what it was to really feel for a person. I realized in that solitary moment all the things I'd thought I'd known were bullshit.

"Cold night, yeah?" I sounded like a fool. I was shaking. She replied with such a beautiful remark. And those lips forming those words. More of a sight than I anticipated, in reality. I couldn't tell at that point, however, if it was the cold or the nerves causing the tremors. It was probably just the way she shaped those words.

And her eyes.

They were like two cat-eye sapphire derelict asteroid-ish twist competitions, battling for the dominance of your focus. O, which one to look at. And the only taste on my tongue was cold coffee from two days ago. Stale. Cottonmouth, but it was definitely her smile that made me salivate. That made me finally snap out of that daze. Her eyes were amazing, and that was simply that. I could tell she'd been up for at least a day, but it didn't take away from her glow. No matter how tired she was, she was still beautiful.

And that's why I left her name there. Enshrouded in that history. Under all that oil-based paint. There, for no one but myself to ever see. That secret that I made. That legacy that I left behind. Painting over her name was the only time I punched a wall since the last time I broke it. That time I didn't try to break my hand, though. So, therefore, I didn't break my hand.

I just stood there with that despondent look in my eye.
Waited.

Then I snapped back to reality.