infinite tenderness

Being reunited with your first childhood love is something that feels very sudden, out of place, yet completely in place: fitting like a puzzle piece into your life. Seeing her again is like closing my eyes on a rollercoaster and opening them again only when they tell you to take off your seatbelt: and you feel like you’ve missed out on this whole middle chunk and you wished you were there to see it (yet you also don’t), so you just get the end product delivered to you. No labels. No preamble. Just the person with a smile that has shifted slightly and eyes that have lost and gained hope for what seems like centuries. And you remember seeing her joyous and naïve and ignorant, her eyes wide open like gemstones begging for light, for life to hit them. But it’s still all there. And the whiff you smell when she passes you is always the same and you know that if you were to squeeze her all into one drop of essential precious oil, it would smell as strongly and beautifully as it did three years ago. She wears scars now, but she also wears the same golden nail polish, and this little curious quirk has popped up in her- and it drives me crazy: her curiosity for life. She’s sticking her tongue out to taste what it feels like to be alive. And I’ll always feel this infinite tenderness towards her.

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not like in the movies

it wasn’t a spark

it was nothing so romantic

but it kept our hearts

squealing

beating

silently

languidly

under each other’s

fingernails

 

and it licks my lips close

and tickles my teeth.

Ungraspable-

i want to be able

to look past your eyes

catch whispers of ramblings

as you skip two steps

or catch your breath

and hold it in for a second too long-

what do you think of then?

 

i’ll spill out my fears

splay them out on the table

like cards,

shards of my nonsensical mind,

you can pick what you want

or just rip them all in halves or quarters.

 

and this heart can’t expect,

but here I am;

 

and I want to know

how your lashes cut like

the edge of a waning crescent

or maybe how they feel on my skin

after a shower,

 

or count the times you’ve

mumbled velleities about how

you don’t like your freckles

on the seams of

your cheeks

 

and everyday

we’ll stretch like a

spring

bounce back

retract

come back

 

it won’t be perfection

more like a dissection

of this affection

(p.s and that’s what i love about it)