Expression // 011

Us.

The moment I met you, your name was imprinted on my skin. It was like a small scar. I could hide it, and no one would know what you did to me. No one would know about the impression you made on me.

Our first conversation felt like a breath of fresh air. Like I was coming up out of the water, my lonely desperation spraying you as I heaved. I jumped at the chance to be your friend--acquaintance--distant companion. I don't know why. Maybe it's because of the marks you left on my skin.

As we grew together, from distant companionship to closer than friends, the imprint turned into an inked tattoo. It blossomed so fiercely I didn't know whether or not to be embarrassed and hide it, or to sport it around with a high chin, and swayed hips. I studied you when you weren't looking. I searched to see if you had the same marks as I. To see if I made an impression. But your skin was smooth. Flawless. Left untouched.

And then one day, I cracked. I came out to you. I shouted to you about nonsensical things, like imperfections and unmarked bodies. You blinked, grabbing my fists with a shaking head. The next thing I knew you were peeling off your layers. One after another. You were stripping yourself, for me. So that I could see your naked soul.

You were marked, just as I was. We were the same. Bearing the inked swirls that meant nothing to the world, but something to us both.

That's when our souls intertwined. I thought something was wrong at first. Because your eyes fluttered and you swayed. But as I reached out to you, you reached out to me and our embrace was sweeter than anything I'd felt before. You fell into me. You let me hold you and as I did our beating hearts skipped into sync. It was remarkable. It was like a fire ignited us. As if someone wiped the haze from our eyes and we could really see each other for the first time.

But there's a price to pay when your soul mates with another. You're in constant need of the other person, you get depressed without them. Your mind is consumed by the thought of them. And if you can't be with them, you will start to slip away.

I brought this up to you, on one of the nights where things were good. You had your fingers in my hair, and our bodies were dug into the couch, together, like they should always be. The small smile you had fell from your lips because you knew what I meant. It hurt.

We ended up arguing about seams and rips and tears and the couch fell away as you retreated from me. It hurt.

My fist hit the wall. It hurt.

You didn't come back when I called out. And that hurt.

So that night I sat in the bathroom, scrubbing at my skin, attempting to remove the marks. I ended up breaking skin and cracking my exterior. After that I cried. I rocked myself back and forth. I sniffled. And I waited.

It took you a while to come back to me. It felt like forever. But in reality it was a less than a day. Your soul--that stupid, stubborn, flawless soul--drew you back to me.

And it was like our first time again. You fell into me. You let me hold you. The only thing we heard throughout the night was our synced heart beats and whispered I love you's.

That's all you could tell me. That's all I could think. And I don't think either of us minded.