Travelling -What I Remember Of You

I remember your tallness
standing
protecting
me reaching on tippy-toes
to kiss you,
because you were tall
I remember your eyes and how they closed
in anticipation of my kiss
And your handwriting, so small
so tight and perfect and restricted
I always thought it was a clue to some insecurity you owned
(maybe one that owned you?)

I loved it, it reminded me of my own, though not shown
my liberated handwriting hid them all
I remember your touch, the way I felt
At seeing you after not seeing you,
it was always too long
Still with me now, still palpable that “missing”
Your gentle fingers fluttering my skin
I remember your taste
for drawing and sculpting
for making things
and your small room
you shared with your brother
but spent the night holding me in the livingroom
relinquishing your brother’s bed for me in your arms

I remember (it's strange the things we remember, isn't it?) eating garlic
You seduced me anyway
you always seduced me
And I remember
when we first kissed
At first it was just our hands that touched
and only they that kissed (for half an hour,
maybe a lifetime, sometimes I think they still secretly meet)
But I became my hands,
I flowed to my fingers
because that was the part that was holding you

And I remember the endless trips on trains to see you again
across borders, with you
in the Balkans, on trains
with smugglers and corrupt border patrol
restless to build castles

We were poor then
-still poor by Western standards
But how I liked being poor with you, and eating poor bread

And in spite of being poor, how rich we were
Sometimes I think we had much more back then
holding hands,
outside
free,
on mountains and 2nd class trains.

by Alina Gavrila

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