We began in a place
where growth is purposefully prevented.
Weeds struggle through cracks,
reaching desperately for sunlight
only to be flattened in passing.

Parking lots
are for coming and going.
For undeveloped beginnings
and unexplained parting.
The gravel catches snippets of sentences,
and a whole conversation ever so often.
It is not meant to see
the middle of the story,
the falling of a heart.

We began in parking lots.
The gravel listened closely
as we discussed our aspirations
and learned each other
piece by piece.
The cement soaked up every detail:
our first few kisses beside my car,
the first whispered "i love you,"
the development of our intimacy
haloed by a streetlamp.

We grew in the comfort of asphalt,
of parking lines and late night love.
We stretched our hearts
to grow in the sun
(or, rather, in the moonlight)
and let our bodies lead,
enchanted.

We are the gravel's dream,
our love forever captured
in parking lots and starlight.

"Please, just come lie down beside me.
I'm so tired.
You don't even have to
    touch me.
Just be here, nearby."

ripped/my/clothes/off.
sensual, sensitive, wild.
hands down my ribs,
across the hills and valleys of my/bare/chest
slowly, on the curve of my leg,
the warm small of my back.

"Can I just hold you
like last night?
Wrap my arms around you?"

clawing/scratching/loving
by the light of the moon.
frantic sighing
my hands caressing/kissing/tasting/experiencing
every inch of his beautiful body.
succumbing to the dizzying reality.

"That would be just fine."

You're asleep, but I'm having a little fantasy.

We are going to Paris (of course) and we just decided to go. No planning, no serious packing. Just got our stuff together and went for a few days. We fly through the night, and I wake up with my head on your shoulder (like Gordo and Lizzie) and we eat plane breakfast (which for some reason involves sausage links and orange juice in this little dream) and land at Charles de Gaulle at 10 AM.
We get off the plane and go find our hotel, which is kind of far from the heart of the city but we like it cause that's where the really cute eclectic apartments and shops are. And you buy me red roses that night and every day we take long walks all over the place.
We do touristy stuff while we are there, and you take me to all of the places you went to with your family and we even play soccer in front of the Eiffel Tower one night, for your old times sake.
But mostly we make love a few times a day and go get beautiful meals and I speak French to the waiters and you think it's ****. We go to a little bakery down the street from us every morning and night and just have an obscene amount of baguettes in our room. We sleep with all of the windows open (it's summer) and the light of the Eiffel Tower is visible at night, far off in the distance.
Some nights, we make love on the balcony of the hotel and then just talk forever, and I'm so perfectly happy there in your arms on the balcony of our little quaint hotel in Paris just for the hell of it.
And I'm so ******* glad you're there with me, even if it's just in my head.

"can you get your shoe off of that chair please?"
i've been lost in your magic. i had forgotten.
still, i don't get in trouble. ever.
you laugh. it makes me laugh, out loud. unfiltered laughter.
he's still standing over us, waiting for me to move.
he's awkward. so tall he might blow away in the wind.
adult acne. needs a shave. eyebrow arched in distaste.
and we are invincible. untouchable.
frighteningly adult and unbearably childish.

fast forward
20 minutes.

"i'm not letting go."
my heart bursts a little in my chest.
you made me beg for that hug
but i melt into your arms all the same.
i like the way your clothes smell
and the way your cheek scratches mine.
i like the shape of your hands
when they are on me, touching, holding.
it's not perfect, but it's whole.
and i haven't been whole in years.

we were whole. that was whole, there.
frighteningly adult and unbearably childish.
perfectly exhilarating.

i wonder what it's like
to love in another language.

do the words for it
(call me when you get home, be careful)
(i'm so proud of you)
(stay)
feel different as they form in your mouth?

do they roll off the tongue the same way
(sometimes too easily, hastily)
or do they get stuck
and refuse to come out?

and does your heart still swell
at the same phrases
(you're beautiful)
(i want to see you)
(i'm falling for you)
when the words don't sound
as simple, as sweet?

maybe another language would be better.
a few languages, a few colors, a few different styles.
different accents. maybe a picture of my heart
bursting at the seams.
because sometimes
"i love you"
doesn't cover it all.

for now, though,
for here

i adore you
my heart belongs to you
I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU SO
in every language, every color, every font.
anywhere, nowhere, everywhere.

I’m going to come right out and say that at 9:52 PM on November 25, 2014, you are on my brain. Maybe because I’m in bed and my mind wanders before I fall asleep, maybe because you haven’t called me back in two hours and maybe because I have weird feelings about you. Who knows? Not me, obviously.

What’s on my brain, really, is next Monday. Because I don’t think I’ll have the nerve to ask if you want to hang out sometime this week (it’s Thanksgiving) and the only time I know I’ll see you is Monday. It’s that crazy, insane feeling that you get where your heart screams a little because it seems like forever. But it’s also a good, secure feeling because it’s concrete. You’ll be there, I’ll be there. I love things that are predictable and easy to anticipate. Things that leave clues and drop hints and leave answers lying around for me to find.

But what’s driving me crazy is that you give no clues. I thought I was a really good at reading people, and I feel terrible for thinking that since it’s completely unjustified. My unjustified assumptions are my fatal flaw, really. It’s why I fall so hard, I think. I assume that the other person will stick around and love me the way I want to love them. Because most of the time, all I really want is to love hard and love well for a long time. You, though, I have no read on you at all. I can’t tell if you want to stick around or if you want me to stick around or if you really just want me to go away and leave you alone. I wish you’d tell me. But then again, I wish you wouldn't because as much as I act like I don’t care, I do. I care a lot. Another fatal flaw.

I’m listening to this really great song called “From Afar” by Vance Joy and it’s touching my heart. It made me want to write whatever this is. The main line is “I always knew I would love you from afar.” That’s sort of how I feel right now. I love awkwardly from your passenger seat, from across the booth, from the end of my row in class when I have to try too hard not to look at you. And yeah, love is a strong word. But hey, it’s in the song, so why not?

At this point, though, I just feel lucky to even know you. You’re one of the most incredibly talented people I’ve ever met. Your humor gets me every time, and I love the way that you listen to what people say. That sounds simple, but listening is such a skill. Listening and understanding and acting like you give a **** are so hard to master, and you do them all with ease. I think that’s what makes you such a good conversationalist. And there’s something about hugging you that’s making me tear up a little right now (****, I’m weird, I know). But I feel really small a lot of the time. And having you reach out and pay attention to me, even for just a few seconds, makes me feel so incredibly lucky. Because if someone as wonderful as you is willing to hold me for a minute and make me feel special, then there is hope for the happy girl in me.

I honestly could write you a short novel about how great I think you are, but I don’t even know how you feel about me yet. I could just be that creepy girl that won’t leave you alone. For now, I’m content to be the girl that loves a little from afar. It’s an honor just to fall for you, even if I land hard.

Kiss me hard. Harder.
Grab my waist, pull me in close.
Don't let go for anything.
Scratch, bite, tear my clothes off.
Let me be your electricity.
I will send you sailing through the stars
if you'll keep me in your galaxy.
Throw me against the wall.
Hate me and love me all in one breath.
Scream at me. Louder.
Set your heart on fire
and let it ignite mine.
Allow us to burn slowly.
Leave no trace.