home.

I like you, and I like how
you’re not afraid to say
you like me. you tell me
that you’ve always thought
I’m gorgeous; you tell me
that I’m nice – I’m not always
that nice, but ok – and you tell me
you don’t understand why
anyone would not want
to date me. part of me
believes it. another part
whispers, "but he doesn’t really
know you yet. he’s going to find out
what an unlovable monster
you really are."

it’s just so lovely
to be with someone
who really wants
to be with me, and is not ashamed
or afraid
to say so. it’s been so long,
I’d forgotten
what that feels like.

also, sometimes the little things
are very telling. like I like how
you waited for me
at the subway turnstile,
to make sure I could get in
before swiping through
yourself. I like how when
I was clearly having problems
and was physically
uncomfortable at the bar, you told me
to make myself comfortable,
and you moved over
to make room. most people
wouldn’t even have
noticed.

I like how we can laugh
when things are awkward.
that makes it funny and cute –
totally cool to be uncool.

you feel like home to me –
safe, warm, cosy, not like my
real home growing up, like the home
I’ve made for myself with my friends –
and that also doesn’t happen
very often. I’m excited
and not a little bit scared.
that’s how I know
it’s real.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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