i will not fall in love with you.


i will not fall in love with the way it feels when i finally get you to laugh at one of my jokes. or the way you leave coca-cola cans piled up on your desk. i will not smile when you bang open the door of my room and cackle when i jump out of my skin.


i will not play the piano for you as you go still on the couch. or sit on the deck outside and smile bitterly as we contemplate why we exist. i will not go camping with you by the river and balance stones, because wont they fall over in time, anyways?


i will not listen when you tell me of the work you do. when you tell me of the people you have helped, the way you go on and on so enthusiastically. i will not wash my hands of dirt after i help you plant flowers in the summer, the way you do every year.


i will not greet you as you come through the door. i will not ask you questions of the way the world works, because i dont want to hear your answer. i will not tuck my head under your chin when youre cooking in the kitchen, because i dont want to feel your heart beat next to mine.


i will not walk along the beach with you. i will not watch as you bump your head on the logs scattered along the sand, as you greet everyone new like they exist just to learn your name. i will not call for you to lay beside me when the street lights turn on outside.


instead, i will yell and close the door and rest my brow against its white paint.

i will step barefoot into the water and close my eyes as the sounds of your guitar dance through the leaves.  

i will wipe my hands on my jeans, and pick at the soil beneath my fingernails, and wonder aloud if we could plant lemongrass instead of roses.

i will stand beside you and lean into you until you stumble and laugh, until you admonish me while i grin cheekily up at you.

and i will not have to ask you to come to me, because you will already be there.