the poet spoke seven last words “i go to seek a great perhaps” but i don’t want to wait until i die when it’s time to join the birds to start seeking a great perhaps to finally feel like i can fly i want to feel this life while i’m in it uncaged, vibrant, brutally conscious, free perhaps oh what a word filled with so much possibility perhaps is an uncomfortable place but what a place to be true free it’s the life for me perhaps perhaps there’s nowhere i’d rather be
“They’ll never get you,” he says, walking ahead of me, teetering on the edge of the gutter. “They’ll never see you like I do. And they can’t, you haven’t shown them the darkest and dustiest corners of your mind.”
I stop and stare at him, my shoe hitting a lip in the concrete.
He turns and edges closer to me, then reaches out and tucks a wayward curl behind my ear. “And you ask me not to love you,” he sneers.
I stare at him, willing myself to look away, knowing I won’t.
“It’s hard to not fall in love with someone,” he continues, getting even closer, “when they’ve shown you the mixed up parts of their soul, and you’ve shown them yours.”
I keep staring.
His hand is lingering on my cheek, his fingers falling past my ear.
“Say it,” he demands, towering over me, feet firmly planted atop the gutter.
I’m still staring at him.
“The deeper our conversations, the more I find to love about you.”
“Stop it,” I tell him.
“I won’t,” he retorts, “I won’t because I’ll never get enough of exploring who you are.”
“Don’t,” I beg, shaking my head from side to side.
He stares, long and hard.
I finally look away.
His hand drops off my face.
He takes a few steps and turns, pausing to gaze through the glass walls of an office building, fixated on a painting in the foyer.
I let him hover for a while, before approaching.
“It’s a cool painting,” I say.
We stand, side by side, staring at the hues of orange and blue, red and violet, that blur in front of us.
“You might never say it,” he states, turning to face me, “but I know.” He starts to walk away.
Now I’m fixated on the painting.
“C’mon,” he shouts, “let’s roll.”
I turn and see him sauntering off, his boots kicking out just a bit to the side with each step. He walks like he has nowhere and everywhere to be, all at once. It’s captivating, and irritating.
“Let’s get a nightcap,” he suggests, swaggering down the street, “and you can continue to pretend you don’t love me.”
I laugh and scoff, all at once, smiling, and blushing.