Deep Desires

t. I go as far as to pretend we’re actually strangers, and have never so much as exchanged a nod of the head. Instead of the truth, which is still utmost in my mind:

He laughs, and I swear to God my heart jumps in my chest.

between my legs there’s that same sensation magnified a thousand times.

‘I got you,’ I tell him. ‘Any time you want me to help you out of this, I’m there. Because, God knows, you’ve helped me. I didn’t know people could be the way you are … you’re so careful with me. I don’t know why I said that about my ex-boyfriend, I don’t.’

And he’s never shied away from showing it.

‘I struggle with physical things. Not emotions.’

I have to ask. Don’t I? I’d be a fool if I didn’t.

‘Why?’ I ask, while my head fills with every terrible thing it could be. What makes someone afraid to be touched, but fearless when it comes to something I can’t even say yet? I feel it, but I can’t say it.

‘You started this. I should ask you first – don’t you trust me?’

‘It’s not about trust.’

‘Then what?’ I ask, but I think I already know. Contact, I think it is. Intimacy. He can meet me in the hall, touch my elbow. Help me up. He can talk to me on the phone or send me gifts that drive me nuts. But he can’t accept that image I’ve got in my head:

My body with his body. No spaces between us.

Now I’m thinking of far-off places in the past, where men with beards stride around through the snow and everyone has mysterious accents.