—WHATEVER MONKEY THAT WAS ON MY BACK, HE JUMPED OFF JUST LIKE THAT, DOVE INTO THE DEEP BLUE SEA
Tiny
Out of options, I erase myself bit by bit, day by day, but can’t get the job done entirely, which is why I’m now dangling from the soft slope of your neck, halfway hoping you’ll notice.
There are mustard seeds that weigh more than me now, lint that weighs more. When I speak or even shout, the only sound that comes out is a minuscule filament of air.
Being this small makes everything about you more expansive and pronounced, a galaxy of undiscovered riches.
Your chin is an awning above me, taut yet fleshy, with the faintest trail of peach fuzz. I wish I’d kissed it more when I could. I wish I’d noticed that chocolate chip mole lower-left under your jaw.
You’re having a spectacular hair day, do you know that? It’s looks like a massive fern, controlled, long and flouncy. If I could get some leverage, I might leap and swing from a strand of it, get drunk off the scent of it.
And how about your skin, recently lotioned, gleaming, smelling of vanilla with honeysuckle base notes.
Plus, I’m pretty sure that’s a new bra you’re wearing beneath your blouse. Polka dot trim, how festive.
Your cleavage below me looks like a death trap, sublimely precarious, but not a bad place to die if things come to that.
And now you’re taking a drive, though it’s Sunday, usually your sleep-in, crash-on-the-couch day. I can tell you’re a bit jumpy from the way your index finger taps the steering wheel like a metronome gone haywire. Honestly, I haven’t seen you this excited in, well, in never.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if you miss me, if you even realize I’m gone. You told me to grow a pair, man-up, and here I’ve done the opposite. Yet that’s just because I wanted to see the world through your lenses, something I never did, but should have.
Parking the car, you check your candy apple red lipstick in the review, purse and pout those lips I now miss more than ever.
You grab your clutch, take a huge gulp of air, and exit.
I know where you’re headed, of course. I know his name, his brand of cologne. I’ve even read his tacky poetry on the back of that restaurant napkin you saved.
But I’ve never heard him speak. I’ve never seen the way he loves you, how he makes you light up and squirm, skin all blotchy.
That’s why I’m here, along for the ride. Maybe it’s the small things I missed, or messed up, or perhaps it’s something more complex. Anyway, I’m ready to find out. I’m finally big enough to learn.
