when bodies memorize
-/-
There are feelings.
That's the first initial thought; there are feelings and they're not all too strong. They're controllable. Manageable.
But slowly, oh-so-very-slowly, these feelings grow. They begin to sprout and soon your mind is beginning to stray off course. Soon, you're beginning to think of him. (Maybe a little too much.)
These feelings grow.
This becomes problematic because soon, you can't even focus on your studies or sports; he's racking your mind.
Soon… his crooked smile is echoing in your head and the way his smile grows when you turn giddily to grin at him. His smile becomes problematic.
These feelings are scary.
Complicated words, any sort of words (adjectives, verbs, pronouns,) can't even begin to summarize these feelings. Because the way he is making you feel is just plain crazy.
(You've been told to be careful; you've been naïve before and learning mistakes is becoming habitual.)
It's an out-of-sorts kind of feeling. It shifts drastically when you spot him in a crowd of rushing bodies, it jumps when he shares a smile, it explodes when he kisses you.
It becomes problematic because soon enough, you're wide awake in the dead of night smiling to yourself, replaying all of the moments you've shared. It's unhealthy. (It's beautiful.)
His words are sugar. They're sweet and they dissolve wonderfully. You drink his words and silently pray that he means each and every one of them. (Every syllable.)
It frightens you.
The way your fingers intertwine should not fit perfectly. (Because perfection does not exist.) The way he grabs your hand and you automatically know his touch, the way you know how he is feeling from the way his eyes flicker. It's a scary thought.
It makes you think of a video you've seen, watched a million and two times. Bodies memorizing and such.
How can you possibly know the grooves in his fingertips? How can you possibly remember the way it feels to play with his palms? How can you possibly recall the feeling of his lips on your forehead? How do you know your head fits perfectly in between the crook on his neck?
It's not just unhealthy; it's dangerous.
Because perfection is a simple false statement. It juxtaposes imperfection and it is impossible to achieve. Glass isn't perfect; it breaks. The color blue is never one solid color; it varies. Feelings are never solid; they change.
So how can something so small grow into something so large, and overpowering?
(How can you possibly be falling in love already?)
You're a control freak.
So when this single person comes along and flips your entire world around, how do you adjust? (How do you readjust when things fall apart?)
And look at you—really look hard into the mirror. How are your eyes bright and giddy? Why do you smile so sincerely? Why is your laugh so genuine? (How can he do this to you?)
(it's scary because anything can fall apart with a snap of a finger, or a blurt of words, or a simple lie.)
Your list is endless; it's really quite unfair.
(and we all know you shouldn't be writing about a boy you love because you only write once you've been hurt.)
So how can one person cause all of this silent pandemonium?
(you can't seem to answer that question.)
(you fumble.)
(you topple.)
(you fall.)
(and you pray on every 11:11 wish that he'll catch you.)
-/-
-Jenn