By Catarina Delgado

We’ve been here for a while, inches away from each other, pretending the sun is nothing but a dream. Your hand rests on my waist as our breathing floats in the air, touching the walls with the same softness as the moment we shared the previous night. We’ve been loving in silence, feeling the unimaginable, accepting the eternal nature of an emotion and the fleeting moment of closeness. Shy sunlight enters the room, through the small window in the corner, painting a section of the floor in gold. I imagine the warmth of the sun on my skin, the same feeling your breathing gives me. I never asked for this calmness, but you kindly let me feel it. My hand touches your hair but you remain quiet, overwhelmed by a simple dream. We have always appreciated our small moments of connection as if our lives depend on the balance between affection and attention. 

The clock on the opposite wall tells me it’s time to go home, but I don’t want to. It has been years since we met. Yet, I feel everything. I feel it all. 

I know you don’t.

The sky changes color. Your eyes meet mine. Curly hair falls on my face and you softly tuck it behind my ear. We smile. 

You look beautiful in the mornings, you say. 

I realize our youth is a memory and the present is a fleeting reality. Every single wrinkle begs to be acknowledged, but I refuse to give them importance. In my mind, you’re the same boy I met at University, skipping classes to write poems in a lonely café. You used to take every chance in life to write a verse in your little notebook, lost in thought, focusing on the way a word sounds and the meaning behind an abstract feeling. What we feel is a reflection of the past. It’s temporary. Still, I can’t help but imagine what could’ve been. 

You pull me closer, putting my pieces back together. 

I’ve always loved you, I say. 

You remain quiet. I know you don’t feel what I feel. I learned that many years ago. But I stay here for you. Always will. 

It’s okay, I add. Just let the words float above us. They will either find a place to rest or they’ll disappear completely. Either way, you’re safe. Let the words find their landing zone. It’s not up to you to decide the place. 

You pull me even closer than before. Our skin touches, and I hear the rain. I can feel you thinking, wondering, doubting. The rain accompanies our quiet conversation as if the world was less important than our existence. It’s okay if I never see you again.

What we had, as fleeting as it was, meant something to me. It meant something to you too, even if you can’t admit it. Your eyes fall to my lips. I let you kiss me. We pretend nothing’s wrong. If you need me, call me again. I’ll never pretend not to know you. 

I have to go, I say. 

You don’t stop me. 

I get up, get dressed, and leave. It will always be like this, a slight hum to the sky, a quiet understanding of our ephemeral nature. Cafés open. The smell of freshly baked bread and morning coffee flows through the streets of our known city. 

I remember your hand on my waist and your sleepy eyes; the sun entering the room and the line of gold on the floor; your deep voice disrupting the silent room. I realize every detail  matters. I’ll always remember you, even if you choose to forget me. That possibility loses significance as time moves on. I’ve always loved you in silence and let our bodies talk. I tell myself nothing is eternal, but I have a faint idea that our connection will survive time itself. 

The sun hits my eyes. This is the truth behind our story: a burn we like to revisit. It is the only warmth we know. 

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Catarina Delgado is a writer from Setúbal, Portugal. Her work appears in Eufeme Literary Magazine, NOVA em folha journal, Pigeon Review, Impostor Literary Journal, Wildscape Literary Journal, Eunoia Review, and Bright Flash Literary.  You can find her on Instagram: @catarina_delgado0