Writing

The Impending Wave

We stood under an alcove, next to a parking garage, and looked at and looked away from each other. You said that you still thought about that night when, in an act of betrayal I told you I didn't know if I was in love with you anymore. Your eyes told me that you were haunted by it. That it whispers into your ear when I make you smile. That every good-night kiss is tinged with the thought of me sobbing on the couch that night, admitting the ultimate defeat. 

Maybe that girl you text tells you that you deserve to be with someone who knows. Who just knows, deep down, always, that they're in love with you. She wouldn't be wrong, if she did tell you that. You do deserve it. 

But don't I deserve to have someone who looks at me, and doesn't look away? Don't I deserve to have someone who holds me in their gaze. Who forces me into the world just by looking at me. With you sometimes I feel like I'm curling inwards, hiding, uncertainty crashing over me. 

Under the alcove I held onto your pale yellow shirt and forced you to look at me and told you that I shouldn't have said that. That I said it in a moment of uncertainty. That I do love you. I love you and am in love with you. And that that's how I know we'll make it work. Because we love each other. 

Sometimes this relationship feels like a battle and the only thing we can do is clutch each other and build our words up like armor around us. Protecting ourselves from the things we'll be hit with again and again. Jealousy. Betrayal. Monotony. Boredom. How do we push ourselves through these things? Do we go straight through them or skirt around? 

I build you an armor that says I'm in love with you. You build me an armor that says I'll be okay. And what would happen if we peeled our armors away? If we stood at the impending wave and let it wash over our raw skin? Would one of us be taken out to sea and the other stay firmly on the shore? Would we stretch out our arms and grasp and let our fingertips brush before we were pulled away from each other? Would we ever find ourselves in the same current?

May 2013

by Brittany Chavez