~

\

blue

s k i e s,

ripe, day’s

fruit & vine,

kissed in evening’s

dusk. syrup, sweet,

spills rainbow eyes,

stars sprinkle

sugar dust.

~

It's different for everyone, but I think there's a little jolt, a little moment of claification.

And it feels like everything clicks into place, just for a second, before you're sent off into another orbit, this time with them at the very center. And in that one second, you know.

You know you love them.

The one tragically sad thing is, sometimes it's only your world that has shifted. In their world, you might still be a small star or a black hole, not the center.

It usually hits me as

you walk out

it strikes me that maybe

I love you

but you’re already gone

and you’ve taken your shadow

with you this time

I knew I loved him

Days

Months

Years

Ages

ago.

Its certainty rang through me

a bell light and melodious

His voice sang the second

deep and inviting

The words, the actions, the needs

of the exact moment have fallen

from my memory

But I knew it

and took flight upon it

letting Love lift me

We're married now

Our lives forever entwined

since the moment our eyes met

and I knew then

We'd be together

In my traumatized brain,

acceptance often masquerades as love.

So when Kevin told me

he didn't love me back,

I knew he had only accepted me.

But I loved him.

And I knew that the moment

we were in his car going to Santa Cruz and

we belted out "Old Town Road"

because that was his favorite song.

I told him I love you,

and he dumped me

days later.

But I loved him.

And in his rejection,

I loved him more.

We were fifteen on our first date, and at the end he gave me a piece of homemade banana bread. He was fidgeting and nervous so when he leaned in for a hug, his gangly arms moved too quickly and he hit the banana bread clean out of my palm and onto the sidewalk. He blushed and I laughed until my stomach hurt (although maybe that was from the banana bread that I insisted on eating despite it's downfall) and in that moment knew that my heart was in big, big trouble.

I remember the day I realized I loved you. I remember it like it's a home movie at the back of my mind, playing on repeat always and forever. You were wearing that pretty blue dress that you found at the thrift store and your hair was in a messy bun and you were laughing and dancing around in that crappy bar at the end of the road and you made me dance with you even though you know I can't dance. I remember how free you looked. Like you had finally let go of the vicious weight that was constantly pulling you back. I remember the sound of my voice when I told you I loved you on the roof of that crappy bar and I remember being so completely terrifed that you wouldn't say it back but you did. You did.

"I love you."

I didn't mean to say it. I didn't even mean to think it. I hadn't thought it, prior, but once I said it, I knew I wasn't lying. You can't really lie, unprompted, about that kind of thing.

That morning, I'd surprised her in Tokyo. I'd stepped off the plane, a worry in the back of my head that I'd be turned away. It wasn't all that real of a fear, and it certaintly wasn't warranted, but it was there.

I'd met her backstage, not taking the time to change, my hair still up in a slightly crooked ponytail from the plane. She was flushed and sweaty and perfect and the look on her face was nothing I'd ever seen before. When her arms came around my neck, squeezing me tight, all my fears disappeared. This was where I was supposed to be, in her arms.

Then, in the early hours of the morning, when we were finally alone, we made our way to the roof of her hotel. During the day, it was bustling with tourists. But at three in the morning, certaintly nobody should have allowed us up there. Regardless, there we were, the wind wipping her long hair into her face as we leaned against the railing and stared out at the city.

Tokyo was still all lit up, despite the early hour. Too bright to see the stars, but the light lit her face, her smile, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled, the way her nose scrunched, her one eyebrow a tick higher on her face than the other. And I opened my mouth, too caught up in the moment to plan what I was going to say, and to my own surprise, "I love you," came tumbling out.

She laughed and looked at me through her eyelashes, long enough to cast shadows against her cheeks. "I love you, too."

I laughed, molasses giggles accompanied by a stuttering hiccup.

I burped and apologized, wincing at the after taste of the vodka.

The kitchen tiles were sticky from spilled soda,

A single light illuminating footprints on the floor,

I clasped my friend's fingers to mine, erupting into laughter once more.

She handed me her cup and I drank,

Soda fizzling like TV static,

Burning alcohol scorching my throat.

He walked in smiling and I reached my hand out to hold his,

And we swung,

Two drunken pendulum attempting to dance.

He dipped me and planted a peck on my lips,

Giddy with whiskey,

"I love you."

"What?"

The pendulums stopped, rocked,

Stumbling for footing on the ground,

And he walked away, back to the room he had just left.

My friend was the only constant, sipping her drink from across the counter.

"You want another shot?"