So..um...im bi...just kind of realized it this year and um...i dunno.
but this is just a story i wrote...
There’s a girl. There’s a girl that I love. This girl who walks with a certain lightness, like she’s floating. And her hands will flutter at her waist and then reach up to brush her hair out of her face, sometimes caught in her lips. Her knees will stay bent, never lock, and she will just barely let her heels touch the ground. Her toes will curl and uncurl when out of the closed shoe, tighten, then relax, as if testing the air. Her head will be held at a slight tilt which comes naturally, and her golden-brown hair will slip off her shoulder. Her eyes will catch everything, always held wide-open, and she will comment on things you wouldn’t normally notice. Or sometimes they will slow to a stop and unfocus, staring past you, seeing only what she can see, and her lips will part slightly, and her breathing will slow. Her smile is anything but fake, slightly crooked, with teeth, her eyes shining. Her laugh will be full, wild and sometimes unexpected, like hundreds of beautiful macaws bursting into sudden flight simultaneously. She likes coffee, with all the extras, and extra whipped cream, please. She leaves large tips, whatever the situation. She never uses a credit card, and keeps a couple dollars of change in her pocket, plenty of pennies. She makes friends with any stray kitten like its her purpose in the world, and always returns to feed it, until one day its gone, and she turns to cry, my arms wishing I could do more than just hold her. She wishes on every star, every chance she has. She keeps several cell phones at home, carries two around in public and gives one away to a particularly endearing homeless man, then dumps a couple 20s in his hat, and laughs when he asks her for her name. She likes rain and storms, dancing with an umbrella at her side, useless, collecting water in its outstretched limbs as she gets herself soaked, her head back, catching raindrops on her tongue. And she always returns with a cold and slight fever, which she laughs away, when I tell her to stay in bed. She uses words like splendiferous and somnolent, not always in the right context. And if she realizes the mistake she will blush and laugh happily. She forgets things easily, and never minds if you repeat your stories over and over again. Each time it’s a renewed interest, and she loves listening to my poems or would-be songs. Her eyes will close, like she’s asleep, but when I least expect it laugh out loud and stare up at me, her head in my lap. She will untie my shoelaces, then tie them again, and repeat it over and over, easily entertained. She will always take a candy from the 25 cents isle at a supermarket and never offer me one. She won’t be perfect, she makes mistakes, and she wont always be there.
But she’ll never say goodbye.
And when I see her through the lens of my camera, she has wings. No one else sees them, but they will span out, and envelope me. And she will laugh when I tell her she’s beautiful, she’s perfect, dismissing the very notion. She will draw in simple lines, like a three year old, but deep in concentration when she does, and never uses gray in a drawing. She will ask me things, things I would never think of, and if I cant come up with an answer, she will. She will send a card to Santa every year, thanking him, and leaving a list of what she wants. And he will never respond. One day she is agnostic, then Buddhist, then Christian, then a satanic atheist. I sometimes show her a new photograph I’ve taken, which is always black and white and she will take it in her room and come back out with it colored in. I will get angry and she will sheepishly say ‘oops’, causing me to burst out laughing. She will always ask me if we can go to the zoo, and I will retort, no, too much work to do, and she will pout, and tickle me. But we never end up going. And when she cries, I catch each one of her tears in my cupped hands, and I will wish on each one for her to be happy. And if she sees me murmuring she will smile. She swims in ever river, lake, ocean that it’s possible. And she says, when she dies, she wants her ashes to be tossed on the moon. And I always nod and say of course. She always talks when she eats, and loves raspberries and coffee. She can be serious and practical, but gets frustrated easily. She has problems with math and cooking, and gives up if a problem becomes too complex. She wears clothes over and over again, without washing them for days. When I remind her, she whines but eventually gives in. When she’s mad she buries herself in bed and then, when she awakes, she locks herself in the bathroom for an hour. When she finally comes out she will glare at me and start to yell, then stop and frown, realizing she’s forgotten what she was angry about. She writes words on paper, her favorites, and makes lists of things she wants, which usually consists of a trip to venus, or a hot air balloon ride around the world, or to sleep in a cloud. Then we will go buy cotton candy and chocolate and watch sitcoms late into the night. And I will always watch her as she laughs and tilts her head in that natural way.
She loves tin roofs and the sound of the rain on them. She walks through carwashes and considers it her shower for the week. I will shake my head at her and she will smile crookedly. She tells me about imaginary friends she used to have and then falls deep in conversations with them, laughing at a unspoken joke they make, nodding sympathetically when they silently explain a woe. When I ask her what they said she laughs and asks ‘who?’
But then, she gets sad sometimes. I find her crying every other week or so under the table holding a stuffed animal rabbit, that I’ve had for years, and I hug her and cry too.
When we’re in the car listening to music, on full blast, and a song she likes comes on, she sings along, regardless if she knows the words or not, and bursts into a fit of giggles when the song ends and holds her aching side when she cant seem to stop. And I always glance over at her, hoping she’s okay, always watching out for her. Never knowing what surprise might lie in wait for me. And then she will look at me when she finally stops, hiccupping, and I will raise my eyebrow and she will start up again. And I will smile, but wordlessly praying nothing will ever happen to her.
She keeps a plant at home, a tiny seed she bought at a flower store, though no one ever found out what it is. She named it Zoe, after me. She sometimes forgets to water it, for a couple of days or even a week, but when she realizes it, she kisses every leaf and tells it she loves it over and over again, and that she’ll never forget again.
She breaks many promises, but only out of forgetfulness.
When I apply eyeliner or any other make up she will sit down and take it from me, and put it on me herself. She doesn’t do it too well and when I am safely away, I take it off. She never notices.
And when she sleeps, she will curl up and flutter her closed eyelids, murmuring inaudibly. Her hair will fan out across her face, down her neck, across her pillow. Every now and then she will sigh and open her eyes a little and whisper ‘hi’ and drift away again. And you will always know when she is there, in the room, hearing the pattern her feet always make when she walks, and my heart will give its wings a little flutter and stretch out to her. And when she leans in to kiss me, it will be soft, forgiving, innocent as a breath of wind. And she will taste like raspberries and coffee and cream and a hint of peppermint, and she will wrap me in her arms, feeling like silk on my skin, holding me close, keeping me from melting away. And she will fall asleep in my arms laughing to herself, and I will feel her breathing and know that she is real.
And every time she tells me she loves me I shut my eyes and cry, knowing that for once, this is true.
And I will love her too.
When I meet her.