The things we say

Wet snow, gray sky and red brake lights line every Chicago street. There’s a tavern on the corner where we plan to meet and my stomach aches with nerves.

He looks fresh and totally unaffected by the weather. ( I didn’t know then… but, he would always look this way. ) Light hair and light eyes and he always greets me with the same smile.

My back’s to a small fire place and it’s too hot but I don’t ask to move. We talk and forget it’s new because it’s easy the way things are easy when you know someone. I know he likes my stories and we trade, evenly, without a pause. I want to touch his hand but I’m new to his signals and think there’s no rush to the night.

From cold to warm and we’ve changed like the seasons.

( I love…

that you always smell like laundry

that you form your mouth into a kiss long before your lips touch mine)

So we’re together even when we’re apart and we’re everything in between and friends tease about the way we say we’re friends and touch like lovers.

My hair is on his pillow and his words are on my mind but I carry on the way I did before he took up this space.

(I hate…

that you like everything I’m not

that your decisions never match your eyes)

Beds three miles apart and I call to tell him I like the way he pulled me close the night before. His mouth by my hair like he was saying things he should’ve been saying before. There’s an uncomfortable regret with telling the truth when everything we are is wrapped in questions and doubt.

(I love…

How you put your hand over your shoulder (to reach mine) when you’re in the front seat and I’m in the back

that you always answer)

~ by prollyshouldnt on June 3, 2008.