Excuse me, Mister...

Excuse me, Mister Romantic Fiction,

pardon me for interrupting your spiel on the philosophical translation of [insert topic here, ie. books, movies, quotes, people, theories, love], but i cannot concentrate on the words that roll off of your tongue, because i am too busy concentrating on what your tongue had been doing in my mouth less than a week ago. which, by the way (if i had forgotten to tell you), was very pleasureable and talented. oh, how my neck & ears long for you.

["You won't miss me."
"But I want you."
"Eighteen plus summer plus out all night partying--you'll meet lots of guys, & you'll have no problem getting them."
"I only want you."
"You won't miss me. You'll be too busy 'macking on' cute guys."
"You're the only one I want to 'mack on'. I'm sorry my tongue only wants your mouth, & I don't want anyone else."]

how did we get so far?, so fast? like jubliant kindergarteners during recess, we raced up the hill alongside one another, holding hands for support, & our bodies rolled downward (collecting grass on our jeans & bruises on our egos). "too fast", is what some might say. i might agree. that is, if there wasn't the fact of my lost Pride & newly-gained Bravery & constant happiness (,but only when i am at your side). none of the others had conquered the task of having my Pride vanish & Bravery take a stand. you, however, had effortlessly & unknowingly managed to make my lips [willingly] reveal secrets [of my universe] to you, offer French kisses in hallways out side of French class, & have me think "Pride, what?" before confessing my inner-most feelings/concerns/fears/wishes to you.

when with you, there was nothing to fear. not even fear itself, because there was none of that. we squished our spiders & fought back our sharks & lit candles in the darkess. lying in each other's arms in your perhaps too-small bed was all i [we?] needed. fear not, darling, i'm here--can you not feel me in your arms? what's that? oh, hunny; no, you're not holding me too tightly.

["why are you looking at me like that?"
"like what?"
"you're giving me that look that you do."
"am not."
"yes, you are. you're a bad liar."
"i've never lied to you before."
"good."
"you're gorgeous."
"liar."]

Pathetic, some may say: depending (not nessecarily depending) on someone of the male species for bliss. well, be that the case, i confess openly and agree whole-heartedly. perhaps not at that "needing" stage yet, but definately trapped in the Longing & Pure Desire stages. stuck between See Him & Stay Away. stuck between tears & smiles. stuck between Knowing Better & Knowing What I Want.

with Lust & Wrath enveloping me like a mother to a babe, i had wept in their arms--all walls & barriers torn down, not fearing that my "physical display of emotional overload" was proof to me (, God & all watching) that you were the one i was thinking of. out of all of the others (i hate that there were others before you: the un-you-like bastards), none had deserved my tears. not such tears as i had cried that night, allowing them to fall into the creek where we had played in barefoot the previous day.

["Hunny, you're dancing in my sorrow."
"Roll up your jeans, and come on in, the water's fine."
"It hurts."
"What does?"
"Look--ducklings."]

if Clark Kent ends up with Lois Lane at the end, then i'll change my name just to be on the safe side. Then again, Rhett Butler left Scarlet O'Hara in the end [Clark Gable, you handsome fuck].

a donated dollar can go a long way. now our names are scrawled in lopsided letters, squished together on the same slip of paper. they'll tape it up in walgreens as proof of our existance together. you put our names down together; i think it does look nice that way. it was as if they belonged together--just as "adam & eve" go hand-in-hand, it is as if our names were meant to be conjoined, almost as if they were not two words, but one, instead.

["don't worry. i cannot imagine you & him not being together."
"really? cause i can't imagine us getting back together."
"y'all are good for eachother. y'all are cute together."
"he is, isn't he?"]

i never understood how someone could be so close [elbows touching while sitting together in a theater; shoulders brushing while walkking; hand grasping wrist in an ever-so playful manner], but be missed so much. you're there [here]; i can see you, hear you, touch you, smell you. how are you so far away? if i wanted to, i could reach out & touch you [&, believe me, i want to]. watching the movie, you're in the corner of my eye. sitting there. eyes on screen--me, in the corner of your eye. sitting there, next to me. I MISS YOU! can't you hear my heart screaming? my heart is with you; can you not hear its mournful cries? you clutch my heart pillow to your chest & fight for the rights to have it [for, according to you, no other boys are allowed to hold or cuddle it, because it is yours]. you can't hold it too tightly, so squeeze on, my dearest. clutch my heart to your chest until it dissolves into your chest, blending with your own heart.

if you wanted to, we could be one. we could be siamese twins. but you're an angel, so i'm sure that'd get old real fast. the operation would be so costly. [do you know how many tacos & mocha foaming vanilla cinnamin soy lattes we could buy with that money?] you don't have to buy me starbucks or movies. you don't have to buy me anything at all, truth be told.

["With him, it's not just about making out."
-pause-
"I'm serious. It's more than that. Not that I don't enjoy the kissing--cause I do--but it's deeper than that."
"You understand him."
"Right. He understands me."
"What are you talking about?"
"He quotes movies, & I quote songs. How perfect is that?"]

cause i need you so much closer. our lips don't have to touch. i promise. let's say we're going to watch a movie, when we both know that means we're going to lie in bed in each other's arms, tangling our limbs together in a manner that only we find comfortable. darling, hold me tighter, please. now don't let go. don't let go. forget the phone. please, don't let go. i need you so much closer. tighter. i can only sleep when i'm in your bed, in your arms. you're my sleeping pill,  but you stick to watching me sleep & laughing at my muffled snores & sleepy sounds. insomniacs apart, narcaleptic together. we're so good together, i know. i love it when you admit it, not shyly in the least bit.

you voided our contract, but in the divorce settlement, you were allowed rights to my butt & my face, & i got slight-hand-touches-&-shoulder-brushes. don't look at me with those eyes, lover. you know i'm a sucker for suckers like you. you've got such delightful lips, & i had come to terms that i was only going to have them brush my cheeks & forehead--then you went & surprised me with reminding me of how your tongue was acustomed to roaming around the crevises of my mouth. tonight, though, i got repeated good-byes to prolong the time in your driveway, & hugs where our bodies press together, & my head rests on your shoulder. i wasn't even given a cheek-kiss. had i fallen so far behind? had you slipped so far away from me?


ilu,
Miss I Think We Can Get Through This