The first time we talked about it, was on a dock, in the rain. We had gone out to watch the sunset when a sudden squall came up behind us and we ended up laughing and drenched.
What are we? Where is this going?
I said why do we need to define it? Why can’t we just be? We will have adventures and see what unfolds.
But then he died and all of a sudden it matters that he had no label. Labels create expectations and pressures that we did not want – but labels also keep life tidy.
I stumble when someone asks why I’m sad. Who died? For simplicity’s sake, I call him my boyfriend but that diminishes him somehow. Boyfriends seem temporary. Replaceable.
I was his bumblebee. His boo. His love.
He was my heartbeat. My tomorrow.
He was Sam to my Suzie. Which I suppose may make him my muskrat.
Maybe we don’t assign enough value to the simple word “friend.”
“Oh he/she is just a friend.”
Funny the things that bother you later.
The CK aftershave does not smell the same in the bottle as it did on his skin. But leaving it on my dresser keeps the lie alive that he will turn up at my door one more time.
I stare at the screen. Flummoxed.
Bounce 