So we were back
To laughing as we
Drove home.
Home. I remember something
I read, “Is it possible for home
To be a person and not a place?”
It hadn’t meant much back then
But as you tell me
The truth about
How you’re actually cousins with
The one who owns the Carnival;
How you think that this
Is just the best five hours
Of your life;
How we should do this
Next time or every time,
Every day or every night;
I wanted you
To be my home
Because I have
Never felt at home in my
Entire life than
When I’m with
You.

‘Sunrise.’* You breathe out
As the sky swirls
Its majestic colors
Of blue, orange, yellow, pink
‘It’s always lovely isn’t it?’
‘It’s one of the lovely
And lonely things,’ I sigh.
I’m sorry that
I just can’t help
Myself sometimes
On seeing the sad in
Beautiful, beautiful things.
I know you said
That it’s because I’m doubtful
But then, no.
Some things are just that.
Flawed.
We just fail to see
Past its beautiful exterior.
‘What could be possibly lonely
About the sunrise?’
You inquire (and
I love that you would want to
Hear some explanation I have).
‘Hope,’ I called out
‘Doesn’t it symbolize hope?
Doesn’t it sprays out the message
Of a new beginning?
As if you can undo all the
Wrong things—but you can’t.
Hope breeds eternal misery,
Doesn’t it? It’s effing lonely.’
It could be weird but I certainly don’t
See the sunrise as billions of eyes see it.
I had expected you
To give me a look and tell
Me to stop seeing the sadder side,
Goodness knows that what everyone does—
‘Here,’ You reached out your hand
I gave you a strangle look
‘Take it,’ your amused voice floats
‘So we could walk together and
Look like sad gits together and
Ponder on what makes sad things sad.’
But by then I am in no way
Sad, I could the happiest
Person alive.

I took a long glance
At the stars above
The sky as
You drive away.
It was a quarter to six
In the morning and
Our night is
Nearing its end.
This time, we
Drove with a
Blanket of silence
Thrown upon us—
It wasn’t eerie nor
Awkward, it was
The kind of silence that suits
Driving away at 5:49 a.m. to
Goodness-knows-where,
Comfortable and easy
And cool as the cold wind of
The almost-morning dew that
Seeps through the
Half-rolled down window.
I feel like I
Could get used to these
Kinds of moments with you,
Not getting bothered
Of the silence
That ensues between us.
We could be together
With ease
Through laughter
And silence, especially
Because it has always been silence
That is harder to
Bear.
And...
It has always been this way,
Hasn’t it?
It had always
Been this easy
And comforting
To be
With you.

‘I figured out the hamartia,’
I tell you breathlessly.
You were still clutching
Your shirt for breath
(And your cheeks are pink
From the cold)
‘My heart is thumping like crazy,’
‘I know. Mine is, too.’ I grin, for you.
‘That was one hell of a ride’ you wheeze
‘I should puke but I won’t,’
I laugh at the incredulousness
Of your little anxieties
And how you strain them in.
I patted your back as
We took a seat on a bench
And you took your breath
‘You okay?’
You nod. ‘You were saying
About the hamartia?’
I love that you keep
Track of what I’m saying
Even if we wander far away.
‘Right. It’s cotton candy.’
You laugh. ‘Really now?’
‘Sugar just sometimes solves it all,’
You pinched my cheeks
And pulled on it
Playfully
‘Sugar ******’ you teased,
I think you just
Caught me off guard
And I think that
I like it.
‘But tell you what, I know something
Better than stuffing sugar,’
You always seem to be so
Enthusiastic, don’t you?
‘Surprise me,’
I say because
This time
I wouldn’t want
To anticipate.

You wrinkle your nose, No
I laughed. ‘Why?’
‘It’s silly.’
‘Sillier than driving
In the middle of the night
To my house and
Pulling me away
To eat pizza and
Drink milkshakes and
Write poetry in our arms
And sing and scream
And driving into a
Miraculously open
Carnival?’
You rolled your eyes
‘I’d rather do a Holden Caulfield on you,’
Would that mean that
To you
I’m just...Phoebe?
I shot you a sceptical look
And told you that
One ride at a carousel
Won’t taint your
Masculinity.
I sure as hell hoped
That I convinced you because
I don’t want you to be Holden
If I’m just Phoebe,
I’d rather be Jane Gallagher even
If there wasn’t a scene in the book
Written for us.
I know that if I could be Jane,
We could write
Our own **** story
And our story would
Be better.
So please, please, please
Say yes
To going to the carrousel
With me
And we could start writing
Our story as Jane
And Holden.

Eyes blinking, jaw dropping.
I wouldn’t believe it.
‘It’s open,’ I had observed dumbly.
‘It is,’ you agree, grinning at me.
Eyebrows furrowing, mouth opening
‘How the hell is that possible?’
My mind ran into maybe a hundred
Answers for you but
‘It just is.’ You shrugged
Like this was the most common thing
In the world
Like a Carnival is always open
At about five a.m.
But that’s not really what
Bothers me—it’s how the hell
You could have known
That there’s a large space
For Carnivals
In my heart.
‘So.’ You say. I sense a tinge of
Nervousness in your voice.
For the first time in this night
I turned to look at you
And swallow you and just you in.
(It wasn’t enough.)
I still don’t know what to say:
Because “thank you” doesn’t
Seem enough
And if I don’t say anything,
I’m afraid you might mistake it
For something else
I cannot even fathom.
So I just held out my hand,
Hoping that this time
You’ll take it—
Take it and
Don’t.
Let.
It.
Go.

‘It’s four-thirty,’ I say
And I think we both sensed
The dreaded end is nigh
‘It’s four-thirty-one,’you point out
‘Would it be weird to admit that—‘
I stopped. I wanted to admit
A lot of things without sounding weird
‘You don’t want this night to end?
No. Because me, neither.’
I took the chance to glance at you
And smile.
You took the chance to glance off the road
And smile.
‘So where to, next?’
You gave me a knowing grin.
‘You’ll see.’
I puffed out a breath.
‘Come on, wouldn’t you like to be surprised?’
‘I’d rather anticipate.’
‘Oh but where’s the fun in that?’
I just grinned. Because
I want to believe
That you’re right
And I want to believe
That you actually did
Plan something
For me tonight.
‘Eye spy?’ I offered.
You tell me that you spy
Something with light—
Lamppost.
You tell me that you spy
Something that goes on—
Road.
As you go on—
Tree, dashboard, yellow lines, my PJs;
I laugh as I secretly spy on
How the light hits your eyes
As you drive.
(I wonder if you
Could even guess how
Beautiful it is.)