The window sills feel sticky as the humidity of summer begins. The white paint slows your fingers as you trace the trim mindlessly in thought. You press your weight against the window as you lift yourself up. When I see you doing this, it’s clear to me the subconscious way you hope that seeing further out the window will bring you clarity. But we both know you’ll be at this window all night, seeking something that can’t be found by staring off into the distance.

It seems everything these days is a symbol of either a second coming or a past you can’t leave behind. The voice of your mother echoes half-truths and things you’ve had to relearn the hard way. The symbolism of your past etched in handwritten notes and faded journal entries is no answer to all those years of unanswered prayers.

The cliches of a hot bath and a glass of wine preached at the church of self-care become the metronome of your week. As you try to calm your mind, the cold tub presses against your skin as the hot bathwater consumes your legs. You know there is something more to tonight than a dry Rosé. Your skin aches to be touched. But more importantly, you ache to be felt.

To feel the subtle lines drawn across your body by my hand following the ridges put there by time. There’s something all-consuming about the gentle touch that turns you inside out. You can’t explain the tears or the smiles any more than a child can explain why they chase a leaf across the yard. Maybe you both hope you never catch your prey.

The gentle touch unlocks something deep-rooted in you, and you feel this primal urge to be owned, gripped, and to feel like you are unable to run. There’s beauty in being transformed like that. The words that echo from others become words from strangers. They lose their significance when put in their proper context. Your mind doesn’t have time for that right now. Context, symbolism, the meaning of the colors green and blue all fade to silence when you’re in this place.

You always seek to be grounded. To feel in control, and there’s something about me that leaves you untethered. There’s a freedom to float. To go back to those clouds in the distance. Maybe you find what you're staring off into the distance to find after all.