for tonight and the rest of my life

I ran through the dimly lit night with the familiar thumping at my neck, except this time I wasn’t running away. I ran to you, your car hidden behind my neighbor’s fence. The seat felt like a purr, and we slunk off before speeding into the night.

Somewhere between ordering food and watching a movie, we brushed our teeth together. The mirror I became familiar with over the past two weeks reflected a much older couple, one that seemed to have a mortgage to pay and shifts to attend. Perhaps I was far beyond my bedtime to make sense of the world, much less my own place in it, but there was the future gazing back at us hardly an arm’s length away.

I found my limbs and fingers tangled with yours under that sunset orange of your salt lamp. I remembered the times you grazed your fingertips on my face and crooned on about my skin like I was a star, like how I seemed so soft and how I seemed to glow. But that night you glowed even brighter with every pulse and breath I felt against my cheek. Your arms wrapped around me like tendrils of light, squeezing me into warmth in the cold evening. I fell asleep in the moon, on a crater made by the cradle of your body. There wasn’t a dream worth watching when I could’ve opened my eyes and done the same thing I did every other night with my eyes shut.

Waking up was a cloudy haze but I still believe the first thing you said was that you loved me, and the first thing I said was that I loved you too but with the words sleepily shuffled around. You still felt like a dream returning me to my house. The highways were empty, and you mentioned how quickly we reached them without all of the traffic. And I, in a naively romantic reverie, toyed with the idea that the universe was made to fit just the two of us.


here is a first date

Here you are sitting across from me. A cup of shaved ice flavored white with some “Jamaican rum” syrup (which tasted a little like stale Pina colada)  sat in front of you, melting into sticky sweetness like I was while watching you fish out a Jenga piece from the tower.  Your face was as steady as your hands, eyes and fingers concentrated. The tower nudged towards me but it never fell. I scowled with a smile. You smiled back in defiance. This was a game, and we were in love. I pulled a piece from a side of the tower because I always play to win. You, in all your clever gracefulness, slipped one out from another side. The tower balanced precariously on center pieces. We looked at each other with eyes that smirked and hearts racing to our necks. Almost too quickly the night turned six and murmured time for me to go. We left like the unhappy kids who sat jealously at the table beside us (except we were unhappy because we had to leave). No one won, but I sat next to you with your hand in mine and my hand in yours in the car. We kissed under the dull red glow of the stoplight, but for a brief moment your green shirt looked like the bright green of a “go” signal. We tasted like the botched flavors of alcoholic drinks turned into sugary candy, but you felt like warm effervescence sliding drunkenly into my stomach. There were butterflies there. They’ve gotten ahold of some nectar and they’re fluttering for more.