I wanted to walk in to a gust of music and let it wash over my body like light
and be filled to the brim with assuredness.
I wanted to smile into your eyes and show you
how easily all my features settle together when I am happy.
how instinctual it becomes to wrap my arms around another human when I feel loved
when I feel home.
I listened to the first bass drop from the towering speakers,
and I wanted to slip out of my shoes, and my cape, and my skin,
I wanted to let the sound waves crash through my bones, rattle them into a rythym,
take the floor with some sort of unadulterated joy and remind us both that my feet dance by themselves
and my hands' motion feels smoother than silk
when I know the song.
what I really wanted was to walk through that door, my friend - that thin-plated door -
and throw off my cloak to show you the adult I've become.
show you the eighteen years of flesh I've built up inside, a flesh of feeling and self
a flesh that knows how to leap into the air and how to open itself up but apparently not how to dance
not even in the rain.
instead I walked in and barely remembered how to exist here. how to feel safe
how to feel like dancing with my feet off the floor.
I'm sorry how my eyes stayed on the ground, even my smile,
I'm sorry that I felt as young as I used to before I owned these rainbow socks, it should have been different
I wanted it all to be different when I saw you again
but all I could think of, looking at you,
was how very similar we are.
XX---
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