One Square Centimetre
One Square Centimetre
One square centimeter. The tiniest amount of contact, meaningless in most instances. The moment two people’s hands accidentally brush while making their way through a busy crowd, or while reaching for the same newspaper. The moment strangers’ legs gently reside alongside one another on a bus. The moment the feet of two friends inadvertently meet under a table.
This is not one of those moments.
One square centimeter of skin, that’s all it must be, of your arm and my hip sit alongside each other, barely touching, as you sit beside me, intently watching the screen. When two stranger’s hands meet, the act is always met with a quick apology as the hands spring away from each other like a small electric shock had passed between the two bodies. Even among friends, the hand graze can be an awkward moment. Even among young, shy lovers.
But that one square centimeter of skin continues to hover against mine. As if it is the most normal thing in the world. As if nothing has happened.
This is not nothing.
I’ve forgotten to breathe.
My palms begin to sweat and my cheeks become red and hot, my mind racing, as I contemplate what this could mean. My senses have kicked into overdrive and I become hyperaware of our two bodies. My racing heart. Your warmth. My unsteady breathing. Your gaze fixed to the screen.
From the corner of my eye I see you haven’t moved an inch, your face still holding the exact same expression as you watch the lives of the characters play out before you in the dark room. I desperately want to turn and look into your eyes, to see if this same storm is raging inside you, but I daren’t, should my game be up.
I inwardly curse you for your calm and cool. Surely you’ve noticed. Surely you know. Surely this is no accident. At this moment, it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I barely notice that the movie has ended. I barely notice that the others have migrated to the stereo, arguing over what music to play. The raucous voices have mellowed into a whisper, they move in front of me and shove each other around, but I don’t take it in. You raise your arm, chipping in and feigning anger when your demands remain unheard. This isn’t like you. You’re such a music Nazi, normally you’d be the first one there, fending the others off with a bat of the hand.
But you’re still beside me.
This can only be confirmation, right?
The first few notes fill the room and sink slowly into our skulls. A flicker of recognition runs through me, I have heard this song before. My mind slowly trawls through the possibilities of what it might be, where I might have heard it before. The dust settles as the realization sets in.
The melody drifted through the speakers that night. You were laughing and talking, but the notes flipped a switch in your brain. The smile left your lips, but reappeared in your brown eyes as they fell upon her. Everything was forgotten, your feet light but your walk unsure as you approached her. She took your hand timidly and you danced like she was all you could see. All you could think, hear, and breathe. You danced like her touch was a drug. To you, it was.
Your head sinks into your hands as the glow leaves your eyes. The façade is torn down, and I know exactly what you’re thinking. I am still beside you. The room still cocoons us with its sturdy frame. The clock still ticks over each second on the mantelpiece. The cars still hustle angrily outside. But, for me, it has all stopped.
One square centimeter.
That’s all we ever were.
I would kill to be her.
This is not one of those moments.
One square centimeter of skin, that’s all it must be, of your arm and my hip sit alongside each other, barely touching, as you sit beside me, intently watching the screen. When two stranger’s hands meet, the act is always met with a quick apology as the hands spring away from each other like a small electric shock had passed between the two bodies. Even among friends, the hand graze can be an awkward moment. Even among young, shy lovers.
But that one square centimeter of skin continues to hover against mine. As if it is the most normal thing in the world. As if nothing has happened.
This is not nothing.
I’ve forgotten to breathe.
My palms begin to sweat and my cheeks become red and hot, my mind racing, as I contemplate what this could mean. My senses have kicked into overdrive and I become hyperaware of our two bodies. My racing heart. Your warmth. My unsteady breathing. Your gaze fixed to the screen.
From the corner of my eye I see you haven’t moved an inch, your face still holding the exact same expression as you watch the lives of the characters play out before you in the dark room. I desperately want to turn and look into your eyes, to see if this same storm is raging inside you, but I daren’t, should my game be up.
I inwardly curse you for your calm and cool. Surely you’ve noticed. Surely you know. Surely this is no accident. At this moment, it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I barely notice that the movie has ended. I barely notice that the others have migrated to the stereo, arguing over what music to play. The raucous voices have mellowed into a whisper, they move in front of me and shove each other around, but I don’t take it in. You raise your arm, chipping in and feigning anger when your demands remain unheard. This isn’t like you. You’re such a music Nazi, normally you’d be the first one there, fending the others off with a bat of the hand.
But you’re still beside me.
This can only be confirmation, right?
The first few notes fill the room and sink slowly into our skulls. A flicker of recognition runs through me, I have heard this song before. My mind slowly trawls through the possibilities of what it might be, where I might have heard it before. The dust settles as the realization sets in.
The melody drifted through the speakers that night. You were laughing and talking, but the notes flipped a switch in your brain. The smile left your lips, but reappeared in your brown eyes as they fell upon her. Everything was forgotten, your feet light but your walk unsure as you approached her. She took your hand timidly and you danced like she was all you could see. All you could think, hear, and breathe. You danced like her touch was a drug. To you, it was.
Your head sinks into your hands as the glow leaves your eyes. The façade is torn down, and I know exactly what you’re thinking. I am still beside you. The room still cocoons us with its sturdy frame. The clock still ticks over each second on the mantelpiece. The cars still hustle angrily outside. But, for me, it has all stopped.
One square centimeter.
That’s all we ever were.
I would kill to be her.