if love feels strange on your tongue
by Marla
Say "like" first. Always say
"like" first. Like is easy, fluid. You can float
on it, your joints light, face tilted to the sun
like a marigold blossom.
Say "You make me happy," and if that's
too much, sandpaper its edges
down to "You made me happy today/this
week/this month." Happiness
isn't love, not necessarily, and anyway you can
always choose to take
that happiness and make it your own, so that
nobody else will have to
give it to you, if that's how you want it. Only
if that's how you want it.
Say "I want to meet all your friends. I want
to meet your family, see
the place saved for you at the dining table,
listen to the chairs scrape
the floor as the seats are filled by people who
know what you look
like in your pajamas, barefoot, bathed in the
glow of the refrigerator
at two in the morning." You will want to say
this in one swift breath—
anything too slow might be mistaken for
tenderness, and anything too
tender might be mistaken for love. Do not whisper
anything just yet.
Say "There is nobody else like you," in
a firm, clear voice, even though
you're not sure if this is true; maybe you just
haven't scoured the city
enough for boys with maple syrup smiles and hands
that feel like knots.
Say "You can come to me when you're tired.
You can come to me when
you're sad. We can eat soup from a can and watch
Japanese game shows
until you are laughing again, and here is a
blanket to drape over your
knees and a tall glass of warm milk." Say
"Home is wherever you are."
Say "Let's see the world together. Let's see
as much of it before we die."
Do not falter. Try hard not to blink. Say
"Let's go. Right now. Let's go."
Thanks miss Marla! Yeah, I was hesitant at my "I love you's" on "strangers" and this helped. I really enjoy reading your works. You put creative writing in a whole new perspective.
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