You sat on the washing machine and I sat on the dryer. Words poured out of your mouth much like the alcohol that made you say them. You do this thing when you’re having a serious conversation where you lower your voice, quiet and secretive. I like to think you do that on purpose. I like to think that you want me to lean in closer; you want me nearer to you. You told me pretty things, and some not so pretty things. But I swear when I stood in front of you and laid my hand on yours just barely enough to feel it, I swear I felt my heart jump straight through my ribcage.
“Crushes never really go away,” and you said, “they sure don’t”. I wanted to look you straight in the eye and have you see what this “crush” has been doing to me. It’s funny because it’s not so painful anymore. Though I may be saying that a bit too soon, you and I seem to change dynamic almost every other day. You’re it. You’re always it. I hate it, but you’re it. You and me. It’s a thing, ya know. And so help me God, it better still be a ******* thing in fifteen years. I know your mom and dad had “electricity”, and I’m still waiting to find that with you. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but all I know is that this is the first time I’ve written something about you and I haven’t had tears on my face. I’m still waiting for us, but I’m not so sad about it anymore.