Rushed and Incomplete III.
In earnest, they’d loved each other for at least a month,
but they were just now meeting for the first time.
It was everything they wanted it to be.
They talked for hours,
and ultimately one excuse or another
led them to his bedroom.
Neither initiated,
they’d boasted of their inability
and unwillingness to initiate for the last week,
and now it had come to fruition.
Here she was lying in his bed,
his arms pulling her closer,
her legs tangled in his,
their mouths inches from each other,
exchanging breath.
The proximity,
the gap begging to be closed.
This utter intimacy,
the moment crystalized,
neither wanting to break it.
The fear of realizing romantic passion.
The fear of the reality that comes with love.
This minor step,
the first in a thousand towards heartbreak.
Somehow – they knew.
And then – they decided not to care.
To stare down that thousand-foot path,
and decide they’d like to walk it together.
Whatever the outcome.
That’s the first thing I learned about love.
Sometimes it was this utterly inspiring courage.
Its capacity for destruction respected
and forgotten at the same time.