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I.
i can come off as being needy
needy- like the time he pressed up against me
and said it was okay
'this is what people who love each other do'

his shy words gripped me
‘i love you’
tighter than his grasp that night did

II.
at the time
it was hard for my head to wrap around
what his skittish words really meant
because love is a tentative word

i love falling asleep
(the same way i fell for him)
knowing there are stars above
strategically placed to protect me from
snagging shadows

i love the way i can feel
as if a shoddy blanket
(or a pair of arms)
can warm me for a fortnight

i love the way music leaves an imprint
(like gentle kisses to a pearl collar bone)
that won’t quite wash away with
hard scrubs of soap
(or the guzzling of bleach)

and i love eating ice cream-
i don’t think i want him to love me
like how i love ice cream

i want to be more to someone
than something that tastes good
on a sweaty day

III.
he never understood what i meant
when i said the chick flick we watched at the theater
was atmospheric

maybe it was because he was too busy
watching the way his hands slid
from the back of my seat
to the back of my ear

or maybe it was simply
he doesn’t understand things
the way i do

and i love stumbling upon a
book that’s ethereal-
one of those books that feel
like you’re breathing in fresh air
without having to go outside to do so

outside where i’d have to
face people who don’t understand me
or the way i told him to stop that night