You and me
It doesn’t matter that the hot part is over, and was over more than
10 years ago now. The hot part where we just shot into the sky and
fucking exploded and fell in love way too quick and both got really
scared about how intense it was. How we were saying it to each other
wide-eyed and incredulous, writing it to each other on paper making it
real. We would get in your bed and stay up literally all night making
out. We couldn’t stop. We’d fall asleep for a couple hours with our
faces pressed together and our hearts and eyelids fluttering and our
tattoos smushing together into new designs and our breathing in rhythm
all too-perfect-like. I’ve kissed a lot of boys and I still remember
your kisses. If they hadn’t been so vivid and volcanic and all over me
and impossible the next part might not have happened.
That’s the part where the firework is still happening but it’s losing
its heat. It’s still sparkling and shimmering and still there…but the
real explosion is over. All the little stars are moving away from each
other but the idea of what was there still exists, filling out the
shape. That’s the part that happened after you smashed my heart. You got
more scared than me. You moved thousands of miles away. But then you
came back. And you kept coming back into my life for years. We kept
going through the motions as much as other relationships and life would
allow. Sometimes we’d see each other every day. Our bands played shows
together. For a while we were even neighbors. I never stopped wanting to
kiss your face. Every single second we spent together getting coffee,
watching movies, lounging around outside, talking about stupid shit like
robots and our bands and our lives and relationships and how we wanted
everything and nothing and were never satisfied…I could barely look at
your neutron star eyes that I kept falling into for years. We both knew
it and didn’t know it. You apologized for everything from forever ago.
Said you were wrong, scared. Our hearts were both bloody on our sleeves
but we didn’t want to ruin each other’s lives…though we came so close
so many times…every time you threw pebbles at my window or put your head
in my lap when we were sitting on a bench or showed up drenched in a
rain storm at my door. Every time we hugged so tight and so long when we
parted, your face buried in my long hair, your eyelashes flicking my
cheek. I think you held me like that to keep our lips as far apart as
they could reasonably be in an embrace. My heart would pound so hard I
thought it might knock you over. We shimmered and sparkled around and
outside ourselves.
I got married. And that’s the part where we turned to ash. You told
me once you thought we’d have ended up together for good if I’d never
met my husband and I still agree. We’re grown up now. The universe still
keeps cleverly throwing our daily orbits together, over and over again.
But it’s cool now. I run into you often. I don’t have a heart attack
anymore. I’m just happy I still get to see your face while the ash
whirls and falls around us and quietly settles on our cheeks and
eyelashes, in our hair, on our hands, on the ground.
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