HIM .... and ...ME... (Circa Makati 2006)

HIM....Sits in silence at a filled table, feeling the chatter of the voices wash over him, not stirring him from his own private thoughts. he’s really just waiting to go home and be alone, but to let down the façade would prove more trouble than its worth.Sitting Waiting WatchingClosing his mind back into his own thoughts he pulls at his sweater, trying to feel for the place that once held a heart. Feelings, words, silvery touches glide through his memory as he recalls the journey that got him to where he is now.No escapeWhen did he change?he hates what he has become, but he is helpless to change it – he is only what he has made him. Shaped and curved to perfection, everything he wants him to be. He recalls when he used to smile and mean it, when words meant everything and touches even more. He remembers promises made way back then, and still made – still meaning nothing. Just made to pass the time. That’s all they’re doing now. Passing time for a meaningless cause.Stirred from his thoughts as the others begin to rise, he picks up his bag and follows. No eye contact, he just wants to remember yesterday.

When love wasn’t just a word.ME...I no longer see the beauty in his rich brown eyes, the colour of mocha or the darkest chocolate you savour at midnight. I doesn’t see the shimmering of his dark asian hair, or the manner and grace of his step. I only sees shades of grey, swirling and twisting – images of the guys I has loved before. Twisting curls, wind chime laughs, interlocking lips – they all merge into one as I look for perfection. The perfection he can never give me. I dont feel the touches as his eyes burn holes into my face and his fingers roam my skin before settling within his own. I am no longer aware of how beautiful a-pair we make.He is beautiful – he doesn’t mean a thing.Perfection cannot be manufactured, no matter how he tries.he is not who I need.If only he were someone else, the one he had – the one he wants to recreate. Then maybe he could make the meaningless whispers mean something. Maybe he could put passion behind those soft touches and sweet kisses.But the show must go on.He..Feels the touch of his fingers on his leg as they begin the journey home. He whispers in my ear and sends shivers down my spine, almost touching my core. I hates this feeling – the manipulation.

I am his a puppet; oh and how he knows how to pull my strings. Suggestions flow smoothly from his parted lips as I tried so desperately not to react, trying to keep the barrier up between us; trying to keep my distance. My legs begin to shake in the sheer anticipation, and its hard to tell when the feeling changes from excitement to regret – before we have made it to the end of the street.Giving myself has never been so hard.Resisting was never easy.I looks up into his eyes, wanting him to understand how much these words hurt me when we both know they don’t mean a thing.

Wanting him to realise how much I need him, and that I knows everything he feels. Can see the calculation behind every perfect move, the movement of every finger across my skin.His eyes go hazy as he succumbs to his touch and prepares himself for another shot at perfection.He..Begins with his hands, then follows with his mouth, skin on skin and they begin.He studies my form as he lays me down on the pillow, watching my hair as it splays out across the pillow in picturesque form. My image twists and swirls in his mind as the others replace his, – by the one who’s face is never far from his thoughts. I could be perfect, if he could see me – not the ghost of the lies he still keeps so close to his heart.That’s his kind of truth.He knows this night will be the same as the others, every single time.Motions leading to noises leading to passion, heat and screams.But they will be dimmed as his thoughts stray to anything, anything but him. He knows how to make it good, and keep me coming back for more.And he knows he feels nothing.But he doesn’t know I feels the same.

He moves forward and the actions are put into motion.ME..Pulls him down close to me as his hands rake across his back, kissing him, willing him to feel something – anything other than the nothingness reflected in his eyes. His hands move from left to right and I can almost trace after the heat he ignites not matter how cold his hands may remain.I tense as he moves for the buttons of my jacket, before placing my own hands over his. I pull them away and moves from under him to the side of the bed, before reaching for my shoes and bag. Invisible strings pull me back towards the bed, back towards everything he wants but can never have.Love.With a final glance from smouldering eyes he looks towards me , someone who will always love but never be loved by, not with the passion and all consuming feelings he keeps so deep inside me. With perfect precision and a shaky heart, he stands and moves softly over to the door, leaving everything he has ever needed behind.he could be losing everything.But, he never had “everything” to begin with.He..Watches stunned as this guy he has never seen before moves away from him and to the door.

His head clears as he sees a me before him that has the strength that no other guy he have had before.The strength to walk away.I turn around and glances at him and he sees the fire in my rich chocolate eyes, and the regret that seeps in me before I even met the door. My body sways in perfect time with the beating of his heart as he realises that I was everything he ever wanted in a guy.

I was every lover he had ever had, and only too willing to make myself into what he wanted, every different person who had ever meant anything to him.And I was leaving him.His heart slowly cracked with every delicate footstep, and he reaches out to the retreating figure in a desperate attempt to keep me here, and meet this guy that meant everything to him, without him knowing it.“I love you” He called out.“I’ve heard it all before..”I whisperedas I closed the door.