"And I don't know,
if we belong together or apart,
except that my soul lingers over the skin of you
and I wonder if I'm ruining all we had,
and had not. . . "
It is silent, everywhere. Outside it is getting dark, a bluish sort of dark; the calm before the storm, or tornado. On the radio, the Black Eyed Peas are telling me that they're 3,000 and 8 and I'm 2,000 and late, and even though I am swaying and spinning, I wonder what that even means.
We danced to this song, and it got stuck in our heads. He kept singing it. "I'm so 3,008, you're so 2,000 and eight" and I'd join in "boom, boom, pow". Maybe if we practised, we could actually sound good. Synchronized.
I've never waited before. It's always been moving as fast as it possibly could, untra-sonic speed.
It's different now, though, and I have this weird feeling, that I should wait for him, encourage him, and just be a friend. I've never felt this before.
I told him that Walking Alone, by Anne Sexton, the poem up there ^ fit. He said it did to, and asked what the title was.
There are pictures documenting our night, though they are terribly unoriginal. I think we felt weird, standing in front of a camera, me in my prom dress and v-neck t-shirt, and him in his suit and borrowed yellow tie. We just stood there and side hugged. The photographer lady said it was ok if we touched, so we did. I wondered, silently, how much touching.
I would wait for him till the end. Which scares me, because I have never said that, or thought anything remotely close to that, ever.