23

finally, a text from you:
can i come over?
yes, yes, yes!
i force myself to wait an hour before replying sure,
each agonizing minute passing
like i’m holding a plank in gym class
but still —
that lightheaded feeling rouses itself
from its weeks-old grave
you say you’ll be there within the hour
i leap into action, tidying up —
everything must be presentable
i put on makeup for the first time in a week,
shove all the u-haul boxes into the corner,
slip on the dress i wore at my grad party
for nostalgia’s sake
sweep all of the things i have yet to pack right under the bed
i assume a cool expression as i open the door,
my guard all the way up
but oh, how much i want to tear it down
how much i want to put this weird time between us
if it means going back to what we were
your cheeks are flushed,
eyes just as blue as i remember
nervous, fluttering hands
i start to lead you up to the room
you clear your throat
actually … do you mind if we talk outside?
i hope my face doesn’t reveal my disappointment
as i change course
back by the shimmering water,
fully clothed this time
you look down at your lap as you tell me
that you made a mistake
that you shouldn’t have done anything with me
shouldn’t have led me on
shouldn’t have avoided me after we got caught
and then the kicker:
maybe we should just be friends
it’s easier that way