Carlos

Men think women like to hear I love you, that we need those words. 
Carlos knows this is garbage. Instead, he rubs my feet and kisses 
my toes when we lie under the sun on a blanket in the park. I like 
to watch him. It soothes to know someone so gentle moves through
 this world. And here and there, moves through it with me. When 
he laughs his eyes crinkle and he covers his mouth, because he 
thinks his teeth are fucked up. I think his teeth are beautiful. He 
tells me he doesn’t miss me, he isn’t thinking of me, and he 
definitely will not hold my hand. I tell him I won’t hold his either. 
Because that is corny, and we are nothing but cool. He knows my 
darkness, and holds it close, but never against me. I told him I 
cannot marry him, and he replied whatever made you think I 
would ask. I told him I cannot live with him, and he laughed 
and said okay. Carlos is an expert wall-crasher. I know this 
because I keep building and he keeps taking down. Then last 
night I asked him about the blank spaces in his story, the pauses, 
and he shared some of his secrets. So perhaps I am a wall-crasher, 
too? We laugh at silly things, like his ludicrous belief my dog 
likes him. And kombucha. When it’s cloudy, he tells me not to 
worry, he’s done a dance to wish away the rain. What he doesn’t 
know, and I will never tell, is that it matters little. 
Carlos is the sun.

It’s funny how life can be one thing in one moment, and quite something else in another. And yet, all the while, remain constant. Exhibit One: Carlos is the sun. xx, M

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