Met you at the movies,
sweet hands shaking as you hold me close,
stealing a cigarette from me,
though you don’t smoke,
because you’re choking on nervous energy,
and thought it might help.
(It didn’t).
We got some tickets for later,
to see something romantic,
so your panic over our actual plans wouldn’t feel like such a death sentence.
I sensed a presence,
without even calling my papi on the ouija.
You insist that they’ll be pleased to see me,
but not you.
It wasn’t true,
but you had found the idea at the back of our closet,
got lost in it,
and let it burrow inside your brain,
so nothing I said would settle your nerves.
So confident you used to be,
(my Yoda impression did not help alleviate your anxiety),
and I repeatedly reminded you that they were just people,
but you weren’t ready to accept that they’d accept you,
so all I could do was hold you tight,
and hope that you’d understand eventually.
