Don’t stop, he said. I wasn’t. Or was I? Out of nowhere, a slap on the face- his eyes no longer weakened me. I sighed in disbelief. Not again, I thought. Curse the wall, or whatever there is left uncursed in this room. Was he changing or was I? Either way, I was stopping. His hands had ceased to enchant me. I wasn’t drawn to his lips whenever he talked. And if he was talking, I wasn’t even listening. Please don’t stop, he asked this time, in my language. Was I? He joked about something. The cheap painting on the wall. Maybe the lighting. The lamp? It wasn’t funny and I didn’t care to hear it well, but I managed to smile at the effort. That’s when I felt my mind drifting lightyears away. The other part of me was still trying to get his hands to enchant me, his lips to absorb me, my mind to come back, my feet to go to nirvana. I wouldn’t let myself believe it was all gone. Minutes danced by to hurried music. Was it hours? His hair was messed up. His grin showed he was back in the Milky Way. Heaven is overrated, I thought out loud, out of the blue, or maybe my younger self. He smiled, as if I were looking for approval. I was only looking. This was the Milky Way, wasn’t it? I checked out the window, the waning moon was still there, and never did I feel such envy and tried as hard to switch places with her. He wasn’t getting me. Drops of Jupiter. Not rocket science. His smile lingered on. It made me sick. Smiling showed good manners, courtesy. The kind you owe someone at the bank standing in line behind you. Was he a stranger now? Had we gone back to that level? What was I doing there? And where the hell were the rest of my clothes? And he went on: Not the kind you give me, dear, he said. The kind you give me is underrated, trust me. Were we still on that? Oh, my mind. It was rushing again. Wait for him, he’ll catch up, said a moonbeam, or maybe my deep self in an act of authority. I smiled at the stranger in the bank, beginning to hate courtesy, both the word and the meaning. I turned away shyly. Fuck, was I shy now? When had this become about courtesy? I was out of place, and found a new life objective, a solitary reason to keep breathing: to get my clothes and to get out. He caught up. Leaving, are you?, he said switching on a blinding light in a dark room. A cave for all I cared. I froze and stared straight ahead. Just one more shoe and I was free to go. But I had been caught in the act. I closed my eyes and faced him. His confusion soaked me in absolute hesitation. I have to, I said brightly, too brightly, and with fucking courtesy. He smiled weakly and nodded in denial. We shared four seconds of silence. I do get you, you know? For the most part, he said. I sat down and stared at the floor. Was the floor what he’d joked about? A minute of breathing went by. Our eyes met. And just then, the wind from the window drew me to his lips. I fought it back. Was I procrastinating again? A hand reached for mine. An enchanting hand. It was his. And just then, I got it. Heaven wasn’t either under or overrated. It just was. Like we were.

Hesitation as a graphic novel by David Galvan – check it out!

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