Us

It’s not like I asked for you. For this. I was doing perfectly fine on my own, yes? Mending my heart with patches of hope from the souls that had bumper-carted hard against it and left it dented in places. I had it together, and I pulled my arms closer around me, tighter like a child tugs a safe blanket around himself, and I told me I needed nobody. 

And it was true because I made myself believe it was.

Then there was you. Oh hello, we’re friends and then we’re more and then its unsure and uncertain and hands grasping mine and eyes that light up and long nights and late talks and then what are we doing?

It’s not like I asked for you. I was done, done, done. Finished with finding faults in him, through with clearing schedules and making time for events that ended up being pointless because they were about him and then what happens when he doesn’t matter, over stupid heart flutterings and soul mutterings and silly so-good-to-see-you smiles and you-make-my-day butterflies. Done. The end. Kiss me goodbye one last time.

And then there was you. A blank page that promised so much if only I took the chance to write out the words in a steady hand. A canvas that begged to be covered and splattered and kindergarten-finger-painted on, hinting that the end would be a masterpiece. A wood that invited me to travel its pathways for who knows what hidden treasures lie there.

There’s the possibility the novel could fail, the painting flop, the wood devour me in its clutches.

But the slightest chance, the glimmer of hope, the light at the end of the tunnel indicates otherwise and pleads with me to give you a chance.

I don’t know how or if or why.

I’m not even sure if who. If you. If we. Us.

But time turns on and what’s life without risks?

It’s not like I asked for you. But here you are. Hello, you.