i’ve been setting the scene for years:
interior, car - night. me in the passenger’s seat,
next to a beautiful boy. he’s driving me home,
and i’m throwing wishes out the window
praying for the traffic to stall, for the lanes to be lit red.
i know how this is supposed to go—
or at least, how i’ve been hoping for it to.
after rounds of chemistry tests on the same script,
edited and perfected for years but never greenlit,
you’d think i would’ve given up a long time ago.
but this time it’s different, because it’s you.
my stubborn hopes were right all along:
the problem was never my script, but my scene partner.
the conversation doesn’t end, never dulls between us.
speaking only ever turns to laughter or singing.
unfortunately, we make it to exterior, home - after midnight.
we’d already spent an extra half hour on park with the engine running
and you can drive in circles only for so long before it gets suspicious.
for the first time, i know i’m not just projecting: on my dimly lit street,
we linger by your car, both of us wishing time would be slower.
the script is the same, but because it’s with you,
i’m different, too: swaying between impatience and excitement,
and brave enough to say more things out loud. so i ask you
why you haven’t kissed me yet, even after having me close
all night, the two of us singing along to love songs in the dark.
you laugh and explain how timing is a funny thing—
you wait for when it feels right, but that’s difficult to gauge
when there’s never a lull between us, never any silence
that needs to be filled with something else.
how can there be one moment when it’s felt right the whole time?
we’re both laughing and i feel like i have to pinch myself.
who fed you all these lines and how did they know they’d work?
how have you managed to surprise me when i was sure
i’d already dreamed about every which way this could go?
where did you come from? and how can i get you to stay?
you interrupt my inner monologue and ask if you can kiss me now,
and there’s nothing left for me to say but yes,
nothing left to do but step closer for that first meeting of lips
that promises this moment will be far from the last,
but maybe, this could be the last new lips either one will kiss.
and finally, i make it back to where it all began:
interior, bedroom - much later than midnight now,
the smile on my face brighter than i’ve felt before.
i hadn’t written past this yet but it’s everything i’ve hoped for,
but here’s one hope more: that this plot twist will be my happy end.
@adventurerswritingguild + @poetryorchard day 29: plot twist
@skylerwitherspoon day 29: write a poem about hope.
