The Rise of Whelm

My tastebuds linger of yours
The smell of your scent that always seems to stay the same
My hands in your hair, wrapped around the strands I braided for fun
16 months ago.

You had opened up the door before I had even reached it
shut it and you stepped out and you took two steps toward me
with a pained expression on your face
and for a second, I thought you were going to hit me.

But you sweeped me up without caution
and pulled me so close
your arms around my back, my legs around your hips
your hands moved under the back of my shirt
just to feel my skin.

Your hands moved to my head
feeling the tangles of my hair
to my face you felt my cheekbones
and I whelmed right up to the brim



and then it spilled over.




Well you and folks,
today was the day.

I met with you for a few hours. We made brownies.
We laid together, intimate together. ( And I mean, reaaaaallly intimate together-like gasping for emotional air, eyes to eyes, nose to nose like we knew everything in the whole world about each other, not just in those seconds, but beyond the minutes)

I cried quite a bit.
But happy mixed with sad tears is like a revelation.

We knew we had to do this. We know we’re supposed to.
That the only chance we ever have of being together again, is to not be in contact. 

So tonight you will call and we will have one of our last conversations we will have in a very long time and we will cease contact and I will say over and over again in my head,

” This is for the best, this is for the best, this is for the flooping gosh-dang-it best’.