I had tucked myself away in the corner at the table by the window. The sun was so bright and so warm that it had its own presence in the restaurant and temporarily made me forget my heartbreak that I was currently drowning in….
I looked down at my plate. The two yolks reminded me of the way his eyes looked when he wanted to make love, googly and loose, soft and empty, as he would lean over to kiss me, to grab me in the most predictable of ways. There are a million ways to kiss but when the intention is always the same so is the initiation.
When we were first dating I had opened my eyes while we made love. The curtains were pulled open and it was high afternoon and the harsh light of day made our skin look grotesque as it smashed together and jiggled apart. I had looked up at him only to see that he was looking back. In the softest of whispers I asked him to close his eyes. Later, when we were finished and dressing, he offered to keep a magazine by the bedside so he would have something to look at, somewhere of interest to divert his eyes. His tone was sharp and injuring. Obviously he had been offended. Maybe I should have tried harder to be less self-conscious. Maybe he should have tried harder to be more understanding. I didn’t say anything. I just smiled and walked out of the room.
