I know what she sees in you. I saw the same thing. The difference is: I saw, and knew it wasn't mine.
There was something about the way you carried your god-damned uniform, with LENIHAN marching orderly in blocky, black lettering across your breast. Something both primal and secure about the gun you kept within reach at the head of the bed. Something tender and sweet in the way you rubbed my back in the early morning sun, the morning after the night we met. Something sensual in the cool slip of those luscious sheets over naked flesh—mine and yours, loosely tangled, newly sated. Something raw in the way you kissed me, something wild in the way you fucked me. Barely tempered. Barely tamed.
But the things I saw in you—(at moments, and in turn) a husband, a lover, a protector, a provider—were not glimpses of a thing that exists. They were echoes of the future—of the man you will become.
And never were you mine. Though it was a beautiful idea.
Original post date: 3.9.2009
