I’d rather count turtles

I’m driving down a dark boulevard. It’s scarred by wet rain stains. It’s pitted with pitch puddles, a yellow line scratched dimly through it all. Then for some reason, I don’t see the road anymore…

We’re in the forest, hands on saplings, supporting our weight. We swing out towards the waters edge, to catch a glimpse of little heads receding into shells. I see your hair bob; you’re at the end of your arm, you turn and smile… Suddenly I don’t see your lips anymore…

I’m at your house, or on the phone, telling you how my past hurts me and I can’t be hurt again. Oh, but your crying, and I’m crying too, and I know your perfect if only I can make you know that. But I see the microphone dot of my cell phone, and hold on to angry thinking, its tearing us apart. But I can’t hold the image straight, it loosens, slips from grasp…

I’m in your arms or you’re in mine, who can tell in that tangle? Can it be like this forever, I can eat with a straw? You talk to me and tell me everything that rotates your life; like I were just a microphone bud in your soul, picking up resounding bits. I’m at the curtain when you shower, the smell of scrubbed skin and clean hair.

I’m driving; crying… Am I lost; my windshield is wet and blurry, like a contact lens out of place. When it rains, it pours, and I can see only a mirage of happy forest play, and red Frisbee in the park where you never dared to kiss me. I remember kissing you first, I had to, and those eyes made me do it.

I’m on the phone again, telling you I’m confused, starting the shit all over again; the stuff five months was supposed to heal. I cry because I think I can’t stop it, but the truth of the matter is that I can.

It’s not hurt anymore, its counting turtles, its cold nights in your apartment bickering about toilet seats or me getting jealous of your cell phone log. Its sweet words, and some bitter stuff too, and the few days it takes to heal from saying them. It’s the smell of cooking and of eating, and the citrus soap that cleans the plates that I can smell on our hands when we make love afterwards. It’s about seeing those goddamn turtles, and the smile it brings to us, and rotating with a wide grin that catches us both by surprise.

It’s about our little apartment, and our cat that’s probably named after some dead French guy. It’s the need I have to be special to you, and the fear that I get when I think I have lost you to expectations and jealousy. That’s my biggest fear in the world; not sitting on the tub edge and hearing about your corner of the world.

It’s about hugging you goodbye and then hello again, a perfect month apart. It’s about me reaching out to you, and knowing with all my heart you are reaching back too. I know its just black letters in a white screen, but it’s also about young love growing up; together…