Lisa Toboz
All to ourselves
We used to meet here – at the right time of day we had the place all to ourselves. Stolen kisses were the best we could hope for. A clandestine holding of hands as we waited in line to check in our coats. Laughter, shared secrets, a love of art.
There were so many things I never told you – so many more questions that you never asked. But we’d walk and talk about everything else. Anyone else but ourselves.
It was so regular, our meetings were sculpted out to such a clockwork groove that I feared that someone would guess. How could they not know….? It was the saddest love story written on our faces, but somehow we kept it to ourselves.
Once I almost told you… almost asked you if you felt it too, but you whispered in a rush, “I’m late – I’ve got to go,” and you walked away from me.
I still keep your memory hidden here, out of sight among the statues. On the days I let myself return, I allow myself to feel the pulse of you running through my marbled veins for just a moment, before I stop my heart and let you flow out once more.
Sometimes I think see you in another room, quicken my step and rush towards you. But whichever door I choose, you are never there.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Debra Broughton and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
