Reblog — ten photographs of you.
you were the first. i had my hands full of “i-nevers” until you took my palm from across the table and pressed your rosebud lips past my knuckles. it was the wrong place, the right place, with no time at all - and i still had salt on my mouth, gaping wide open. i kissed him like this, you said, eyes catching mine as you mouthed the words around the bones in my hands - these hands that had never held, never touched, never reached, never-i-never. and i didn’t know what to say, too caught up in the curve of your body as you leaned towards me because no one ever had. you were soft, even as your fingertips grazed the underside of my palm. i looked it up later that day, the deep line in my skin you traced over and over. the sun line. apollo. you were the first who made me want - everything and nothing, something or anything; all of you or nothing at all. it was 4PM on a tuesday. it was the smile you pressed into me.
when you pulled away, i said nothing but knew you’d be the one to make me write bad sonnets that i would read in front of the entire english class come monday, knees knocking and palms wet but trying to catch your eye above the words. to see if you knew. to see if you were mouthing along. to see you. do you see me —
do you see that you make me play ‘teenage dirtbag’ on repeat on the bus back home. that you make me want to alliterate every word that’s spit from my mouth and tie together metaphors around our pinkies like wayward kites.
do you see that i’m layering up, sweater after sweater in september; cold, cold, cold and trying to remember the warmth you pressed into me.
you were bad poetry in twenty hidden word documents on my laptop.
you were a list of how much i wanted, how i wanted to be wanted;
a list of places i wanted to go: your pink-bitten collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your hips between my thighs, your heart in my palms.
you played the viola and all i wanted to tell you over the swell of our bows catching on notes of dead men we would never know, "you should come over."
you straddled the seat next to me, pink nails curling over the back maybe like how we could hold hands, one day, later. maybe in the hallways, grips like steel and steps in tandem as we become a forever-whisper in corners and in bathrooms. maybe your fingers would crook along the freckle on my arm, the one you once drew into a smiley face - one eye sea blue, the other dusk brown (and how i told myself over and over that it wasn’t a metaphor no matter how blue your eyes were when you looked up at me with a lost word on your lips nor how brown my eyes were when drew a sloppy heart on your knee).
sometimes i felt like i maybe had beehives inside of me. on the inside of my mouth. the way it stung. the way i couldn’t kiss you if i tried.
the things i’ll miss about you:
your thumbs licking against my wrists as you pull me forward into the dressing room at h&m; wearing nothing but jeans and a bra and a smirk.
your lips like sugar, the picture of apple pie as you tugged my hands to lay on the lace, dragging them down, down along your ribs, your quivering stomach.
your nose in the hollow of my throat in the dark theater.
your smile fitting around my name.
"you laugh like a house on fire."
you, to me, after.
prom night: you wrapped up in tulle, me held together by black straps and your arms.
we fit strawberries in our mouths, giggling as the lights washed out the colors of our eyes into yellows, reds, and greens. our heels clacking underneath the table, our friends squeezing us together for photos; your sun-speckled shoulder pressing into my arm all night as i reached down to curl your hand into mine under the dark. you already have your stilettos dangling from your hand by the fifth song and i’m humming "but lo and behold, she’s walking over to me" into your ear. wheatus as our witness.
it was a friend who suggested we sleep over her house, our smiles night-drunk as we agreed. it was me who suggested we stay in the guest room. it was me who closed the door and you who stood in the middle of the room with only the lamplight to color your skin gold.
and i remember the way your collarbones dipped.
and i remember the bruise of your eyeshadow as you closed your eyes and breathed in deep and began to tangle your finger around the strap of your dress.
and i remember the way your voice - like bleeding pomegranates, like a thousand touches to my hips - shook.
"is this okay?"
the was strap dangling off your shoulder, your makeup smudged, the wisps of your hair ghosting your neck.
the june night was on my tongue as you suddenly made this into this, silently offering. and i couldn’t - didn’t want to ever, ever - say no.
"always, fucking always, yes." i dribbled out, your orbit pulling me in - stockinged feet whispering closer and my breaths bent towards you like dirtied prayers. father, and son, and holy spirit, and holy shit - holy fuck- let me have this.
i slid the bobby pins out of your hair, pale sunlight coating my fingernails. there were 23. the bedsheets were powder blue. there was a water stain on the ceiling above us. it was 2009 and there was a crescendo of yes’ in my throat. it was 17-year-olds and rabbit-racing hearts.
you held my trembling fingers against the zipper, thumb sliding into the valleys of my knuckles. we stood there, still. we could hear a soft, lulling hum of music somewhere. i stared at your shoulder where white dress met pale flesh.
i pinched the zipper between my fingers and you leaned in and held your lips against the veins of my neck and you whispered something.
i didn’t catch it, too low and fast and fleeting. and sometimes, now (after), i wonder what it could’ve possibly been.
or a cheeky verse of "come with me friday, don’t say ‘maybe’."
we unfolded like red carnations. we gasped with fireflies underneath our gums. your lips (there and there) were flushed. my hands shook the entire time, and so did yours.
but we laughed, hushed and breathless and rosy. when i knocked my elbow against the wall, when you tripped on the countless folds of your tulle.
the walls held us in like a promise as we lay there, curved towards each other like parentheses. like 'x' marks the spot. like you are here.
and i said - traced over your cheek in braille - "oh."
oh, here we are.
i wanted to put your heart in a jar and watch it glow.
and for awhile, i did. wrapped it tight like a bow between my lungs. and you had mine, warm and yours.
but we only had milk-teeth then. clumsy limbs and quick hearts. promising too fast and loving too hard.
but we fit.
until we didn’t.
until there was a boy and your heart found its own "oh" and i couldn’t stop you.
i didn’t want to stop you.
not when your mouth was full of stars even as my own bones were twisted up in a car crash - ribs jutted out like a last attempt to pull you back. and even though i had whispered my secrets into your wisdom teeth and you had breathed all the places we could go on the insides of my arms, i didn’t want to stop you.
not even when it fucking hurt. nights where my words were like crushed glass shoved down the throat of your heart. nights when i fit my mouth around the barrel of a thousand things i didn’t mean. nights when i broke apart all the wishbones i ever dared to keep.
not even then.
because you and him were happy.
still are, 5 years later.
and it would be okay, you and him, and us.
because for a moment in this universe, there was a you and me.
later, after: you said there were stars in my eyes and i laughed and said it must’ve just been the light.