There is a certain language everyone learned to speak while I was still thinking the funniest thing was making mud pies.
The girls who know exactly when to push their hair to drape over their shoulders blades, how to apply lipstick by looking at their reflection in a car window, what to adorn their ankles and wrists with so it jingles every time they step.
I said, “I can walk myself home.”
Translation: “Place your hands on my hips. I will guide them to where home is for us.”
I said, “I can take care of myself.”
Translation: “Would you be proud to call me yours?”
I said, “See you when I see you.”
Translation: “I want you to demand we sit in the middle of my living room until you’ve unlocked every dungeon of my heart. They can be so dark. I have lost some of the keys. I would never be able to draw you a map of the obstacles I’ve placed over the last 15 years. But I could be worth the search. I could be worth the chance that you fail, that we fail, that we drive full force into this brick wall and even though every air bag explodes and I’ll have a black eye for weeks and you’ll get scared every time you get behind the wheel again, we could be worth that chance. “
I said, “Goodnight.”
Translation: “Please.”
This walk home alone is so warm, is so thick. Each step s a reminder of how it was so easy for you to watch me walk away.
