If I had known it was the last time I was going to see you I would have held you at an arms length to drink in your rugged beauty. Holding your gaze in order to drink from the pools that are your eyes. Allowing myself to drown in their depths only to be brought back to the surface by the feel of your hands on my skin.
I would taste the sweetness of life from your lips, as they press into mine. Taking your inhale like someone whose lungs have been emptied, never to be refilled on their own, but only through the life-giving breath of another. Finding myself alive, if only for those precious moments.
I would feel the strength of your arms. Enveloping and intertwining until I can’t tell where my body begins and yours ends. Resting my head on your chest, feeling as safe as a child nestled at the bosom of a grandmother on Sunday as she prepares dinner, knowing that in this moment everything is safe and right with the world.
I would listen to the richness of your voice. The way the notes seem to hang in the air after you’ve said my name in that breathless way only a lover can. Feeling their vibrations as they land softly in my ear, creating sound I crave the way an addict craves their next hit.
I would smell the muskiness of your scent as it mixed with the sweetness of my sweat, creating an aroma that even the most tender oils can’t recreate. Drinking it in like thirsty Bedouin who finally finds the oasis he’s been seeking. Allowing it to pour through me as I greedily drink, as if it is the only thing that will keep me alive in the desert of life.
I would burn these memories into my mind, allowing the fire to cauterize the memories, to quell the bleeding once it realizes you are gone and that my senses will never again become drunk off your presence.
If only I had known it was the last time I was going to see you.