Thoughts Of A Twenty Something Year Old
Aspiring writer. Born storyteller.
He rescues me in ways he doesn’t even realize. With his warm voice and sweet kisses. Like harmony and honey. I watch the Ferris wheel along the boardwalk spin round and round. A colorful pinwheel surrounded by the scent of pink cotton candy and kettle corn. We are belly laughs and rose gold cheeks. I cannot fully describe this feeling in my stomach. Something like joy and nostalgia and I’m looking at him and realizing he is my future.
You are helping me find this new version of me. I let the darkness dissipate. I feel childhood again – you know, what it’s really supposed to be like. Ink-stained fingertips and chalkboard sidewalks, bed forts and belly laughs. Growing up innocent and idyllic.
It feels like one of those quiet afternoons in July that drip molasses and honey from rustic windowsills of brick and barrel. Breadcrumb trails and leftover cheese line the crevices like pixie dust and pirate hooks. My hair is sticking to my balmy lips; a light wind cradles the vineyard hills – a mother and a womb of grapes of purple and black.
It hit me hard. Hearing that you were engaged to someone else. I still have that diamond ring you had given me five years ago. In that little black box – I keep it in a brown paper bag on the top shelf in my closet. But that’s not really the point here. In some ways, it feels like another lifetime. And in others, I am back on that high school dance floor, the last song of the night, and I am letting you kiss me. Warm and thrilling.
I wanted to reach for him. To hold him. To temporarily let him burrow into my brain to let him know I wouldn’t break his heart. That I am not his ex wife. That I will never be his ex wife. But I knew him well. I know when he gets overwhelmed he shuts down. It’s not his most attractive quality, but we all have unattractive qualities, don’t we? It’s about looking past all of that. The bluster and the bullshit.
Thoughts Of A Twenty Something Year Old 