lucky

I remember the moment I caught myself slipping. Before I ever saw her face I had nearly hit the ground.

The way her name is met with a smile from anyone who had the luck to know her impressed my own ego. I’m not sure how I have the space to be so infatuated with a girl I don’t really know.

And I really don’t know her.

But I‘ve read the way she writes.

The way she makes sex so sensual.

The way she describes loving so many different kinds of people.

And with that it was no longer a choice to be made. I was wrapped up in her stories as a hopeful participant to a party I wasn’t invited to.

From then on I have felt my body tremble when I think of her and when I think of him, and when I think of us all I wish I had the experience to describe just how I imagine it to be.

But I don’t.

I was repulsed by touch, so I rarely pushed forward in my own commitments to partners. When I fantasize about the way she tastes, I’m reminded of my own humanity again.

It’s a warmth that starts in my hands. My mind runs wild fast, and I feel my chest rise as my breathing wavers. The only sound is my own heart, drumming louder and faster to keep in pace with my racing thoughts. This desire feels instinctual. It makes me feel that all of my awkwardness and inexperience wouldn’t matter. A fantasy that might never come to fruition, but just having the opportunity to pretend leaves me feeling untouched and wanting—yearning, and just oh so very lucky.