i want to run through every red light to get to you faster
the butterflies caged in my chest break free
when i recognize your silhouette across the dark parking lot
i want to live with my face buried in the space between your collar bones
your smile sets my gut at ease
like the ease you have with kissing the top of my forehead
with a warm, “hey babe”
& i never knew how much i craved
the velvety softness of those two words
until you say it
like how you casually play off the incredibly thoughtful things you do for me,
like loading the Harry Potter audiobooks to a playlist for me,
or leaving me “thinking of you” videos in the morning.
i want to extend each moment,
because time apart feels like that game i used to play with my brothers,
holding my breath at the entrance of a tunnel
only allowing myself to exhale once you reach the other side–
only, it’s not a game now.
& i’ve only just caught my breath with you
& don’t want to hold it a second more.
& yet.. i want to let you leave.
i want you to go conquer the world,
and be the person you tell all about it
at the end of the day.
if you didn’t ask me, “how was your circle group meeting?”
i’m quite sure
that all of this
would’ve come tumbling out
how long does it take for you to know
that im your person?
how much assessing
& deliberating among friends
before you come to the conclusion
that i’ve arrived at months ago?
it shouldnt matter if you’ll be gone for years
because if this is real, it’ll outlast the distance.
on the other hand;
the years matter if they embody the test.
because if it’s real, when all the pieces fall into place
then you’ll know if my piece is still right beside yours.
with no guarantees
a seed can’t sprout in infertile ground
regardless of how strong it is.
in order for it to take root
and birth wispy tendrils
the soil had to give.
a whisper of a thought
comes from the smallest seed
but your mind is what allowed it to take hold
to grasp the possibility of that tiny idea
breaking out of its husk
& growing into this lush
“its a logistical thing,” he explains.
“it just makes sense for you to have one,” he reasons.
offering a drawer
in a man’s place
is a huge thing.. at least to women. [i think]
so i ask, “but what does this really mean?”
what im really asking is, don’t let my heart & mind wander off to some hopeful cliff to later plummet off of.
“its progress.” he says, as he pulls me in close to kiss my forehead.
“dont be anxious
dont be worried
i can see it in your face
we’ll figure things out”
when he catches me
before i can get caught up
in my own runaway thought train
when he lassos me with his reality
& pulls me in close
is when i realize
he’s willing to balance
on that fine line
i could be the kind of girl
just along for the ride.
revel in the silence
& await the big reveal.
& if he bows out
before it ever gets to that point in this romantic comedy?
rewrite the script
cast a new leading man.
you still have a movie.
i wish i could be that girl.
more than any other self deprecating thoughts i have–
this one ranks the highest.
but because i can’t
because i’ve tried
again & again
at trying to be her,
can’t we just have a go at me being this one?
& not consider each time i push for answers
to be two steps backward into the abyss of unknowns?
that grey area
where you can’t tell where the horizon is,
the foreground from the background,
or anything in between
is what got me here
in the first place.
this is me
in the middle of a room
with a hundred different paint swatches of grey
laid out around me
holding each one up to the light
to see if it matches the walls.
“is it more of a ‘classic french grey’? … no? how bout an ‘earl grey’? or ‘gauntlet grey’?
i think i got it–
cliches are born for a reason
& completely out of character
until someone makes you feel the way
you should’ve always felt about another person
they are the reminder
that if what you feel about him
isnt the stuff of love songs on repeat
or throwing pebbles at a girl’s window kind of grand gesture
its not it.
the magic sauce.
dont settle for your lukewarm feelings
its your heart urging you
to keep lookin’
love thrives where love is rooted in commitment
what came first,
commitment? or trust?
how do i commit to something
that may or may not be real?
how do you trust someone
who you’re not sure can commit to you?
we’re both standing at the airplane door
shivering in anticipation
parachutes neatly folded in our packs
yelling to be heard above the roar of the engine,
urging the other:
“jump first! im right behind you!”
am i the fool for leaping first?