In The Melee (ITM)

The room is packed, a melee of activity amongst the loud and boisterous crowd, but I see him.

He is here.

I am surprised.

Our eyes lock into that of passionate recognition, remembering what once was, and what will never ever, be again.

Which, I whole-heartedly regret.

The desperate pangs of attraction overtake me as look at him, staring so hard, I cry, silently, with a lone tear, as I long for him, like I once did.

I wipe the single tear from my eye.

He raises his thick bushy blonde eyebrows, towards me, an old outward sign of the lust that we once shared. A secret communication used once upon a time in the past when we wanted to hide our deep inner most passions, keeping them unknown to the world.

I blink my eyes to the left, a direction for him to go for our impromptu meeting.

I blink, again, and tilt in the direction of the double doorway.

He nods.

He understands.

The pasture-colored eyes of this long ago paramour, still excites me. He still lights up my innermost being. My groin stirs in remembrance.

I tingle with an abated joy. It has been far too long since I have interacted, had a chance encounter, with someone, especially him, which fuels my long-buried long hidden desires, that I have held in check so the world will not become privy to my secret world.

I have not really had such an encounter before.

This is a first.

I do not know the expected protocol.

He makes his way to the double-sized door, the entranceway, and stands nearby. We each bat our respective eyelashes in recognition, towards the other; no other outward sign is shown, between us.

No hugging or hand shaking, no kissing or any other intimate exchange.

The reception room of the concert hall is the last place I expected to encounter someone, especially him from my 'old' former, secret, life, but here he is, crossing my path.

"Hi, "he speaks first as we are within a foot from the other.

His voice, squeals somewhat, I barely recognize the sound but it is him. His face proves it.

The voice, I remember so well, although nervous, over the loud noisy racket in this densely packed room, it is the only sound, I allow myself to hear.

"Hello, yourself," I respond with a wince and a marked shakiness in my own voice, too.

There is a stillness between us, an awkwardness.

The silence breaks through the uproar of the room.

"The music is good? Is it not?"

"Its ah-kay, not necessarily to my liking," he says, gruffly, somewhat annoyed, "To many high-pitched tones in this particular piece to suit my taste but I did not choose this, myself. He did."

Then there is quiet, a momentary stillness between us, again.

Maybe this recognition was not a good thing, in retrospect.

"I best get back," he says, "questions will be asked, of my delay, if I do not return, soon."

Our eyes lock, again, no words are spoken, just the intense gaze.

I move my mouth, the words come flooding out but I say them anyway, filters gone, not thinking of any future repercussions.

"I miss you."

My words, whisper-like, escape, painfully hard, from my gasped mouth.

He pauses in his haste to flee, to leave, and to rejoin his 'date' but not before, he turns and utters his final words.

"I miss you, too," he says, "I have missed you for the longest time."

He smiles, one last time, as he darts from our rendezvous, from this unplanned meeting.

"I miss you, more, "I whisper, under my breath, one last time, "I miss your breathing, sharing the same air with...I love you."

He does not hear me, as the back of his suit is all that I see, as he disappears, rapidly, back into the melee, into the hurried hubbub of the crowded room and his 'date'.

The moment over, fleeting, between us.

Passed.

I do not see him.

He is gone.

Once again.

In the melee.

I feel a hand, forcefully, on my tailored jacketed shoulder, pressure is deftly applied, before the person, comes within my eyeshot.

It is him.

I dread this man, another man, near me.

"Hey, Walt, you ole codger, whatcha been up to?" says the towering bear of a man with the firm grip on my shoulder.