For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had a face for you. 

You

The girl sharing her Tropika red with me on the bus ride home in second grade.

The girl I wrote letters to in sixth grade. Leaving them on her chair tucked under her desk an hour before she got to school.

The girl I waited for outside the school yard every afternoon and walked her to the taxi that brought her in the mornings.

The Christian singer who sang Iron & Wine songs on my chest one summer in my mother’s living room. Whose voice was lost to me months later. Sounding further and further away with each passing day.

The girl I built a series of stories around on false hopes of things I knew wouldn’t come to pass.

Briefly, the girl in cargo pants, vans sneakers and hoodies that caught her long hair.

The one with a fruity name met on an unassuming Thursday night among strangers and shared cigarettes.

The woman who caught my sober eye but first heard my drunken lips reach for her booze numbed ears. Both minds denied access to the memory of what was said.

The woman who tried to surprise me with visits and gifts every chance she got. I, always onto her. Her, none the wiser. As I intended.

The woman taking artistic photographs of us in bed through a mirror on lazy Saturday afternoons. Wearing one of my shirts. With no bottoms on. 

Love, how many faces have I given you? As if the faces were mine to give. As if I knew you at all. As if I could reach out and touch you with familiar hands that you rest your cheek onto.

My great mistake.

Trying to see you before knowing you

Hearing your voice before listening for you

Sounding out your name without taking the time to read between the lines. 

Love, I have wronged you. In thought, word and deed

Love, I don’t know what to do with you 

Love, I’m sorry 

Love, will you wait for me?

Love, it’s okay if you no longer want to 

Love

Me

Lay here, my love. Yours is the only shape I’ll pray to

Samuel E. Beam