Every story I write has a quiet boy who loves words and a girl he doesn’t quite understand. She has a laugh that ricochets and she makes the quiet boy smile. She looks like algebra but is more like calculus. She is deceptively hard to solve. You don’t see her fault lines until you think you already know her, but her plate tectonics only cause aftershocks, never full earthquakes.
I always thought she was me, always thought I wanted to be that kind of captivating. Enough to make the quiet boy happy. But then I met you and your quarter moon smile.
I always thought the girl was from some coast but the first time I saw you in a bikini I realized you don’t have to be from California to have drops of seawater glow like individual suns on your skin. I want you to drip dry on my clothesline arms. I’ll hold you up to the sunlight, let your bare legs dangle in the wind. I want to straddle your fault lines and hold you through the tremors.
I always thought I wanted the spotlight but I’m content being the quiet one beside you. I thought I loved the boy who loved words and I wanted to be enough to inspire him to write but you make me want to get published just to share you with the world because something so beautiful should not be kept secret. You said you wanted to make the history books and you will, but for now I hope my poems are enough. You are rainy day inspiration. I thought I was the girl but it turns out I’m just a quiet boy who needed someone to inspire me.