Fluttery
Maybe not a love story… I think
He says exactly what I expect him to. Still, I feel sort of surprised.
He’s not the type to dance around and play coy. I try to tease him, but he disarms with direct honesty and that stupid smug look on his face.
Who does that! He forfeits his emotional high ground, gives up his position of power, and still peacocks around like he’s in control.
I’ve never been good at saying I l-v- you.
I’m a small and emotional mess of a being. I’m sure I have… l-v-d. I l-v- my parents, my brother… I l-v- my best friend, she’s the best. But to l-v- and realize it was a mistake… that could destroy me.
No, that would destroy me. I mustn’t, I can’t… l-v- him. Still, when I see him I feel all… fluttery.
People talk about feeling butterflies in their stomachs. Well, my butterflies must’ve skipped their lesson in anatomy because they flutter all over.
Yes, some by sheer luck find their way to flutter in my stomach, but they also flutter in my eyelids, their beating wings lifting my lids in excitement at the sight of him — selling me out.
They tickle my nose making it scrunch up. He says he likes when my nose scrunches up. He says that I “look cute with your nose all scrunched up”. That only makes the butterflies tickle harder.
Sometimes, they’re in my lips too. But when I feel them there, I hold them still. I just take my fingers and pinch them, massage them, keep them relaxed. Keep them from being reckless.
Boy calls me out on that though. He mockingly starts massaging his lips, exaggerated, as his lips spread into a wry smile.
I never knew dark brown eyes could glow so bright before I knew him.
I know another boy who used to do this to me. He wrote me poetry, sang me songs, but he wasn’t good for me.
He sang those songs to other girls too. His l-v- — if it was that — while strong was fickle. Still, I couldn’t help myself, I love butterflies.
This boy doesn’t sing for me. Sometimes he’ll read his writing for me, but it makes me laugh, not flutter.
Still, the way he looks at me. The way he checks that I’m eating and drinking water — I am not good at checking in with my body. The way he makes me smile after a rough day. Butterflies
But this boy is different. Instead of coming in fits and starts, his l-v- is like an arrow, on a collision course with my heart…
This time, I might let it hit its mark.
As the arrow, draws closer and closer, I feel the butterflies readying for flight. I feel myself, encased in butterflies, their wings beating, my whole body a flutter.
As the arrow is an inch away I can’t help it. I sidestep it and turn away.
If it hits me, what will happen to the butterflies?
The wings calm, the maelstrom of wings beating calms to a soft breeze.
I turn back and look at his eyes, and I flutter.
