tori
He said, My fair maiden, will you take me away with you?
And I said, Yes.
I'm strung out on confusion. I think you’re stringing me along.
I love you, but I honestly don’t want to take up any more of your time.
And I know that as soon as your girlfriend leaves town, you’ll be sweet on me again, and I’ll lose track of how many times I’ve given up on you, and I’ll stash away all those letters I’ve written that I never meant to send. But before that time comes, I am thinking logically and rationally and morally, and I’m trying to make plans for the future, and I need you to be the adult.
I half-remember you humming softly to yourself.
I wondered if we might feel that way for the rest of our lives.
I'm sorry that I've been lying to you about my age. (Although I think you've known all along, and you've just denied it.)
I never want to ruin your life. I promise that no matter what you do, I'll never tell.
But my ankles miss your shoulders. And the back of my neck misses your heartbeat.
And I miss that look you give me, like you're complete.
Suddenly, I am overwhelmed by my existence, all the thoughts and memories and sounds and cruelty and violence and mystery and pain and foreverness and ghosts and possibilities, being alive on this planet amongst all these people… I just want to let go of everything for a second. I want to be overly sensitive and hysterical. I want to scream.
I know a man, he’s a powerful man/got the people in his power, in the palm of his hand./He started at the bottom and he worked his way up/now he’s never gonna stop until he reaches the top.
Powerman by the Kinks
I remember us kneeling on his bedroom floor in front of his dresser as he pulled the heavy drawer open. I remember feeling wide-eyed surprise when I saw that he had kept everything I had ever given him. All the gifts, trinkets, cards, even vegan chocolate bar wrappers. I was a silly teenager before, unaware of the meaning of “inappropriate,” but still he loved me, and still he waited for me.
The warm, milky clay-water squeezes out from in between my fingers and into his palms. I want to whisper, Look what we’re creating, together, beauty. But I can’t find my voice. Suddenly, he starts pushing at my hands, manipulating them to magically transform what was a modest mug into a tall, shapely vase. He makes it look so easy. For a second he shifts his position behind me and I can feel his breath on my ear. Then I want to cry, because even though this is beyond wonderful, it’s the most intimate we’ll ever be. And I want more.
I don't know what to say to you. I can't promise you forever; I can only promise you today. And I know that you are so afraid to commit to anything. Maybe this won't work.