JUVEN
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i love you, only to your back
by Gabby De Guzman
i saw it coming.
nothing you do particularly phases me anymore.
[this isn’t an insult, honey-- it’s a celebration if anything!]
a 3-hour horror movie marathon?
no way you’re sleeping at night!
i hear my bedroom door creak.
and for a moment i pretend it’s a japanese ghost,
but japanese ghosts aren’t that loud when they’re
about to haunt their victims.
and frankly, i could recognize
those loud footsteps thumping down
the hallway anywhere.
from drunken outings to vulnerable evenings,
much like— hey, are you up?
[oh, your voice is softer than usual.]
and i know the script.
because the script never changes.
i’ll turn my back and face the window,
you’ll slip quietly under the sheets and face the door.
both of us staring at possible emergency exits,
just in case it all becomes too much.
you’ll mutter about how difficult it is to sleep with me
because, you’re always here when i wake up!
and i won’t know whether to reply,
i’m sorry about that or i know, you’re welcome.
you’ll start to babble,
because silences make you uncomfortable.
you’ll tell me about how when you walked in here,
you noticed the mattress had two handles on the side,
and you thought that was endearing because it looked like a suitcase.
[and i’ll bite my tongue, refraining to say, god, if this were
a suitcase, i’d tuck you snug and take you wherever i went.]
we’ll completely ignore the fact that talking
with our backs turned towards each other is a horribly
ineffective way of communicating,
as well as a terrible disservice to all the
common courtesies we learned back in school:
like waiting for your friends when they tie their shoelaces,
taking turns by the water fountain,
or looking someone in the eye when
they want to talk about something important.
and why is it so hard to look at each other
whenever we do this? what are we so ashamed of?
after all, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.
[why do you only confess you love me
when you think i’m asleep?]
i’ll be the first to break, as always.
you’ll go on another spiel,
and i’ll hum politely
slinking my arm over your middle.
i’ll wait until your words start to slow,
and your vowels start to stretch out,
until you finally give in,
resting your cheek on my chest…
one day i’ll confront you about it.
about all the shame, embarrassment,
and guilt you hold that isn’t yours.
but tonight i’ll let you pretend
none of this ever happened.
i’ll let you sink into my arms
as the warm, morning sun comes out.
nothing you do particularly phases me anymore.
[this isn’t an insult, honey-- it’s a celebration if anything!]
a 3-hour horror movie marathon?
no way you’re sleeping at night!
i hear my bedroom door creak.
and for a moment i pretend it’s a japanese ghost,
but japanese ghosts aren’t that loud when they’re
about to haunt their victims.
and frankly, i could recognize
those loud footsteps thumping down
the hallway anywhere.
from drunken outings to vulnerable evenings,
much like— hey, are you up?
[oh, your voice is softer than usual.]
and i know the script.
because the script never changes.
i’ll turn my back and face the window,
you’ll slip quietly under the sheets and face the door.
both of us staring at possible emergency exits,
just in case it all becomes too much.
you’ll mutter about how difficult it is to sleep with me
because, you’re always here when i wake up!
and i won’t know whether to reply,
i’m sorry about that or i know, you’re welcome.
you’ll start to babble,
because silences make you uncomfortable.
you’ll tell me about how when you walked in here,
you noticed the mattress had two handles on the side,
and you thought that was endearing because it looked like a suitcase.
[and i’ll bite my tongue, refraining to say, god, if this were
a suitcase, i’d tuck you snug and take you wherever i went.]
we’ll completely ignore the fact that talking
with our backs turned towards each other is a horribly
ineffective way of communicating,
as well as a terrible disservice to all the
common courtesies we learned back in school:
like waiting for your friends when they tie their shoelaces,
taking turns by the water fountain,
or looking someone in the eye when
they want to talk about something important.
and why is it so hard to look at each other
whenever we do this? what are we so ashamed of?
after all, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.
[why do you only confess you love me
when you think i’m asleep?]
i’ll be the first to break, as always.
you’ll go on another spiel,
and i’ll hum politely
slinking my arm over your middle.
i’ll wait until your words start to slow,
and your vowels start to stretch out,
until you finally give in,
resting your cheek on my chest…
one day i’ll confront you about it.
about all the shame, embarrassment,
and guilt you hold that isn’t yours.
but tonight i’ll let you pretend
none of this ever happened.
i’ll let you sink into my arms
as the warm, morning sun comes out.
Gabby De Guzman is a high school student. When she's not crying over her neverending pile of homework, she's writing about her feelings and posting it on the internet. She can be found on Twitter @deguzwrites