Wednesday, September 10, 2008

ice cream in the summer

They're sitting next to each other on a noisy bus when he turns and says "Why do you have to be such a secret?"

She's not sure what to say, so she shrugs and mumbles an answer that she won't remember later. She will remember his eyes though--days turn into years when she looks in his eyes. And she forgets to be embarrassed; the walls around her heart slide away like ice cream in the summer, the evidence of her fear melting down her face. There's no reason to be unhappy with herself, no reason to wish she was someone else, someone more pretty or clever. She's already pretty and clever when reflected in his eyes.

She likes it that way and they ride in familiar silence.

"You give me chills," he whispers later, his arms around her and their legs entwined. She's not sure when it happens, but their bodies--souls?--move together, two clocks ticking at the same time, and when she finally leans back she can't fall asleep because her heart is pounding against her skin and her body is tense, trying to hold him closer--but it's just not physically possible.

So she holds him with her love and hopes that it will be enough.

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