2-18/21-13
Another girl has told me she loves me
and it makes me at a loss for meaning.
I was laying across her chest when I confessed to her
after a minute of silence.
That I loved her a little bit,
but I was not ready to love her a lot.
I was expecting her to cry because she was all stirred up,
but her honesty led her to an alarming ease
and I realized I was the one mix’t up.
If panic was motionless that is how I felt.
And I knew this would happen.
But I did not want it to happen.
But I let it happen—
And I do not really mind that it happened.
So I can pretend that I’m being brave and that
I’m looking forward and forgetting about past affairs,
but just the fact that I’ve heard in past utterances
those same words,
and when I think about what my future looked like back then,
and when I acknowledge the terrain laying in front of me,
looks nothing like I expected it to be.
I know there’s no courage oozing from me.
But there’s a piece of mine that becomes a peace of mind
when I’m laying across her chest.
And there’s a piece of mine that grows firm with each
shallow interpretation of her breath.
And we make silent promises to each other,
dormant expectations that shouldn’t exist,
mixed schedules emerging betwixt.
All of these feelings that,
make me feel like,
I should resist.
But when I’m lying across her breast,
and I realize that I don’t really mind where I find myself,
catching my breath,
it doesn’t really seem all that bad that I love her a little bit.
gummygunk
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto