Not Sure

She was not sure what it was.

No words that she could put her finger on, confidently,

could describe the feeling in her heart…was it in her heart?

It felt like the bubbles exploded in her stomach, across her thighs,

slamming against her chest and gushing all over her back.

It was a warm feeling, the warmest she had ever had in a long time.

She did not know what to call it.

Someone, her friend, laughed at her and said she was in love.

Her other friend countered and said she was just sprung, attached.

She was not sure what it was.

Her breath halted when he and her spoke, coming in fast when he said

those things that seemed to kill her knees and block her throat in ways

that were previously incomprehensible.

Words tended to do that to her. Her weakness. Her kryptonite.

He seemed to know it, and seemed to relish brandishing that whip across

her laid-bare, vulnerable, open sores of emotions.

She was not sure what to call this.

Confusion, disturbance, explosion as emotions and feelings converge

in a manner that is eerily similar yet so distinctly different from 2008.

In a maddeningly exquisite twist, she could see where she was headed,

where he was leading her, with that firm, temperate, quiet confidence

that screamed at her to trigger the chains and brakes and clutches.

She did not know what was going on.

He was an enigma but seemed to leave it all out there,

quietly but loudly and clearly stating what he was looking for.

He seemed sure what this was.

He seemed to know what to call it.

He seemed sure what it was.

He knew exactly what to call it.

And he held her there.


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