fingers whisper

Put your hands against my rib-cage,
Pull me closer into you,
Blur the lines,
Turn out the lights,
Your fingers whisper
what is true.

bedroom windows, part three

It's been too long since that night. Too long since I opened my eyes to her sleeping right next to me, not remembering where I was and very suddenly realizing that I didn't care.

Partly because I can't remember every detail, I won't chronicle it all. In a way, I just need to finish this story before it slips away irrevocably.

I remember the struggle to leave the bed. I remember not wanting to fight her, wanting to surrender and stay there forever. But my dad was picking me up and I had a window to sneak out of. A window that I did not particularly want to climb through again.

I was crossing my fingers that she would tell me to leave through the front door. It wasn't a school night, we hadn't done anything wrong and I had a feeling my presence in her room that morning was anything but a secret from her mom. But Niki insisted with her eyes and then climbed out the window ahead of me.

Passing her my bag as I stepped onto the desk chair, I glanced back at her bedroom door, now ajar. Someone had pushed it open that morning and we were hoping it was one of her dogs. Halfway out the window, I heard the smashing sound and my body tensed. I wasn't sure what I had knocked off the windowsill and broken but I was positive that footsteps were rapidly coming down the hall and that her mom's voice was cheerily calling out good morning.

As Niki's face turned bright red, it occurred to me  that it's sometimes easier to sneak in than out. Doing things by the light of the moon feels stealthy and badass but once the sun had come up, all the rebellion guilt and clumsiness splattered across my body like a thick layer of paint.

Niki was so embarrassed but I didn't want to melt into a muddle of invisibility. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of my life. Her mom was giving us the benefit of the doubt and seemed genuinely pleased to see me there, awkwardly loitering outside of her daughter's bedroom window, a window I had obviously just failed to escape through. I stood there, leaning against the side of the house as I was offered breakfast, coffee, fruit or maybe pancakes and declined it all as Niki muttered, "You couldn't just let me have this one teenagery thing, Mom."

I pleaded my departure and eventually fled, smiling at the vindication of getting caught. There's something so pure and satisfying about the suspense ending, the worst thing happening, having it not be that terrible. There's something to be said about a mother who is endlessly hospitable to a teenager who just climbed out a window rather than exit through the front door.

It was the end of my summer, officially. The best night and the most eventful morning, one of those momentous occasions that reaffirms my "no regrets" philosophy. If the opportunity presented itself again, I would seize it. Next time, though--given the choice--I'd take breakfast.

Breathless

Your fingers trace 

snowflake patterns on my skin,

never the same one twice.

I curl towards your touch

and away reflexively--

An exhale to match the inhale.

But my breath is far from even;

My focus out of tune.

You've taken all my sanity;

I'm breathless thanks to you.