You step out into the sunshine from the shadow of the tree that you fell out of when you were seven years old and you look the same as you did when I kissed you in your basement underneath the light of the dimmer switch half a year ago. Wild auburn hair—I never know what to do with it, you say- resting like forgotten confetti on your head. Your eyes are a little too small and your lips are a little too big, but you've gotten taller and your heart is even more out of proportion than your mouth.


Your parents are around the corner and I grab you and kiss you quickly, hands in reddish curls and you freeze, shoulders tensing before you let yourself relax. Your mouth tastes like toothpaste and Pepsi all at the same time, and your teeth are white when you smile at me.

I have a shower and when I get out, you're wearing my shirt and you're in the sheets of my bed and you're eating my bag of candy and watching Wheel of Fortune. I scowl like I'm mad for a few moments, but when you sheepishly wiggle your feet under the heavy surface of the wool blanket, I can't even pretend to be mad at all.


You get drunk and I don't because someone has to drive us back to the house and you take 100 pictures of the moon.

100 damn pictures of the moon, and you show me each one, slurring your words. Isn'titpretty? It's bright. and every picture you take is blurry that it looks like a light bulb in a pitch black room.


I love you too much.


this is a deeply personal piece and should have two parts. i'll get around to writing the second when i get around to it.