Pooner Diaries: Brief Connection

Birdboy · July 2, 2011

It's the witching hour. Midnight, a fat autumn moon overhead in the crisp fall air. I stood at the window, looking at the dry autumn leaves tumble listlessly in the light breeze outside. And I thought of her.

I was with her, only a short time ago. I can still smell her scent on me, I can still feel her arms around me, her hands stroke my back. And I can still feel her lips on mine, her tongue teasing my tongue. But even more than the memory of her touch, I feel a dull ache.

I remember those eyes. Sigh, those eyes, large, brown and lovely. But it was those eyes said without speaking that got my attention. They were the eyes of a child in an otherwise womanly face. Wide, innocent, and trusting, they were an unexpected delight in this business of ours. They were windows into her soul, showing me the beauty inside to go with the beauty outside. Showing me that sweet, caring heart that beamed even brighter than those incredible eyes.

And now they're gone.

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Before we met, we flirted, she and I. But we flirted without flirting, unknowingly charming each other with our posts. I sent a little note of admiration. And then the flirting began in earnest, that familiar dance, that lighthearted tease. Then one last note. Could I come meet her? She very happily, joyously, deliciously agreed.

The door swung open, and I stepped through. She appeared from behind the door, leaving me speechless. I saw her face for the first time, and I gasped. She was achingly, heart wrenchingly beautiful. I looked deeply into those rich brown doe eyes, saw the dazzling straight white teeth in her shy smile. A greeting. An embrace. A tender kiss hello. We small talked, our arms still around each other in her front hallway.

One last gaze into those eyes, and she wordlessly took me by the hand and led me into her garden of delights. She showed me a little slice of paradise on earth there, that magnificent woman. She showed me first her flesh, then that passion for life that I will always remember her for. We played, her and I, in turns gentle and caring, wild and passionate, and everything in between.

I lay back, satiated. She had been utterly wonderful. She lay on her stomach beside me, her chin propped up by her hand and we chatted. Small talk at first, but as we talked on, I discovered she had a beautiful mind. A big heart, overflowing with caring. My admiration for her grew quickly, in that long talk. I realized I was starting to care about her myself, despite our short acquaintance.

I understood now that she was truly beautiful, both inside and out. But now it was time for me to go. A last lingering tender kiss, and I got up to dress.

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Yes, I ache. I ache because I won't be able to pass this way again. I ache because this will be our first, last and only time together. I ache because she will be leaving this life for her real life. She will be disappearing forever. I ache because she touched my heart, and I know I touched hers. I ache with the regret that I won't get to know her better.

Perhaps knowing that this would be our only time together made it easier to let go. To live with wild abandon, to allow our hearts to peek out from the armored confinement that we maintain for this business that we are in. But know that this is our one time is also all the more cruel, for now that we have found each other, the doors must close. We must move on, because this business demands it.

A friend is fond of telling me that we should be glad to have the chance to experience these feelings, to live fully, to breathe deeply. But it also means we open our hearts to longing, to aches, to hurt.

She's gone, but her eyes haunt me still.