A Special Kind of Sentiment

I am sitting in the back of a Volkswagen van. It is eleven o’clock and we haven’t sat this close in months. The faded plaid upholstery pokes at my thighs through my nylon stockings, but I don’t mind because this moment is authentic. I am authentic for the first time in a long time, and maybe it’s the twenty seven sips of pino grigio, or maybe it’s the rush I feel from being able to bare my soul to twelve strangers, three acquaintances, and eight friends in the form of a microphone and six steel strings. Or maybe it’s the one you, sitting before me, eyes that look at me like they did the day we first spoke, about travels and Monet and understanding that sometimes people are worth more than they give themselves credit for. You told me that then, and you tell me that now.

It’s getting colder, but I don’t say a word because I don’t want to leave your side, the breeze blows through the windows and I promised I’d make you curtains for your birthday which sounds like a lame gift but I hope it isn’t, not really. I want to leave pieces of me inside that van, my sloppily scrawled signature fades into the wood grain and you wouldn’t know it was there unless you thought to look. So maybe the curtains will hold a special kind of sentiment, and when you feel alone, you can look back and remember the girl who sewed you curtains to keep you blanketed in a literal form of a figurative feeling.

We talk about the future and I am scared and amazed to realize we have grown up so suddenly from the people we once were. And I am excited and certain that we have what it takes, but I trace your cheek because I know it will not be the same without you. But I am assured because we need to allow ourselves to grow into the people we want to be. And we are strong enough to realize that we deserve that. We deserve to partake in this love, and we deserve to let it go.

But still, I beam when you call me your best friend. Your art will always cover my walls, my heart; your hands will always intertwine perfectly with mine.

“The world is at your fingertips,” I say. “Now all you have to do is reach out and take it.” So you kiss me. And I laugh into your lips.