Kicks

Your foot kicked against mine under the table. You pointedly looked in the other direction as a smile stole across your face. I wanted to grab your hand, but you kept it on the water glass you swirled. The ice cubes clinked together as the summer heat wore them into a slurry.

That was the last time a crush felt emphatic. The last time were my breath caught in my chest— my fingers numb & stupid, just like my tongue. I couldn’t find the words to express how I felt— every sentence was punctuated by long pauses and sheepish smiles.

I hadn’t yet filled the outline of the person I hoped to become. The draw of your own lines called to me— as if I could find my own boundaries by peering inside yours. As if stardust and turquoise rocks comprised your insides instead of honest fears and shy hopes.

I’d finally grab your hand during a long walk— one extended by a meandering heart & similar mind.

The concrete was eschewed in favor of the abstract. Potential over ability— fantasy over reality. That’s how crushes work. Your heart temporarily becomes affiliated with another more strongly than with yourself. As if it could somehow beat independently of your body.

And still, I wouldn’t give up the memory of your stained black and white converse knocking against my faded adidas as we ate Thai food. Or the long walks where the future seemed implausible as the present stretched forever.