Writing Us

I curl into your neck. Burying myself in you.

We breathe. We twirl red and white stripes on a barbershop pole, legs and arms locking into place.

Your breathing paces mine. Cars roll to the four-way stop, accelerating away. Rhythm to our night.

The burn in my nose as I drink in your drinks second-hand is as familiar as the weight of your leg and curve of your neck.

“You knew what I was.”

As if that would have stopped me from loving you.

How? How could you not know what I was?

A cancer in a bottle is no different from a cancer in your blood. I cannot despise you for what is not you. You are not a bottle. You are not a disease.

You are you.

I knew exactly what you were. Who you are.

I fell in love with exactly who you are.

I love you.

And every night as we fall asleep, I write our story. This time, I rolled over and wrote it down for you.