in the end it didn't work out

*

I'm struggling very hard to fight back the tears on my way to work, 

but it feels obvious to the world that I am losing. 

Eyes red raw and sore from the night before I walk in a dream like daze; fuzzy and dulled. 

For a brief time they shined and sparkled with excitement and anticipation. 

I had a hand hold mine and guide me, arms wrap around and hold me. 

It didn't feel like a lie then.

* * *

There were butterflies in my stomach and I hadn't really slept the night before; 

we had stayed up talking for hours until I couldn't stay awake any longer.  

I had managed to wake up early the next morning, brimming with excitement.  

And so there I found myself, travelling under false pretences so as to not arouse any suspicion 

or questions as to just what exactly the hell did I think I was doing. 

I sat on the 12:14 from London Kings Cross, mesmerised by a woman brushing her hair; 

probably getting ready to meet someone herself.  

I wondered if I should brush mine too. 

The train pulled slowly into a station in the middle of nowhere and I hastily packed up my stuff;

the pounding in my heart increasing in speed and intensity. 

I dared not look out of the window lest I be disappointed or see disappointment looking back at me.

Standing at the carriage doors I saw him; looking as perplexed and as expectant as I felt. 

What are we doing? 

I disembark and a fleeting moment of uncertainty passes between us until I extend my arm

around his waist for a sideways squeeze. 

"Cool hair". He says and I beam. 

Walking to the car I see and feel his nervousness; 

it's endearing and makes me feel more at ease

Sitting in the car, adjusting seatbelts I see his hands tremble slightly as he fumbled for the radio and sat-nav; 
nervously talking about nothing in particular. 

I sit quietly. and smile to myself. He's beautiful and for that weekend he is mine. 

* * *

My heart, now engulfed with a myriad of emotions draws my chest down toward the ground; making my feet heavy. 
The wind lapping at my face stings my eyes. 

Convinced that if I had done something different perhaps I wouldn't be feeling this way

...maybe?

* * *

Cautious and shy, we play a game of 'who dares?'; 

dancing around the truth that we'd both rather just fuck. 

A high five where fingers linger for that little bit longer than a platonic hand-slap 

and playful tugging on my belt strap.

We spend the day. 

A barrier of unfamiliarity ever present until he wraps an arm around my waist and we begin 
moving in step, in step, in step. 

It is comforting, reassuring, if unfamiliar. 

Walking and walking hand in hand, me and him: a 'them', if for a little while.

*

His hands run gently down my bare back and I look unabashed into liquid blue eyes.

It's cold outside but I feel the heat of him around my bare skin throughout the night; 

I fall asleep wrapped in warm arms and legs 

and to the sound of a voice that is concentrated on me, 

that loves me today and I am smiling.

all for what?

So, you quickly glance up under your eyelids just to watch and take in.
Doing nothing in particular just discrete.
Making sure to scan around if anyone is watching you.
You're safe; continue.
And then looking, you remember it will never really have come to pass and question whether your longing should even reach eventuality.
Perhaps not.
Your lips may fit together; your bodies may not; probably won't.
It's not really comprehensible; the fantasy never follows that narrative.
So what is this then?
Keeping occupied; a mere hobby to have something else to think about other than the emptiness of your own mind.
You've stumbled upon a tiny flame in a vast abyss and allowed it to be to you an all consuming fire; ravaging the barren darkness within which you would otherwise be falling through.