I didn’t know what you wanted. You weren’t giving me anything to help. So I just sat there straddled over the fence with a picket up my ass. It was such a fine line between knowing whether you wanted me to make a move or not. Every time I nudged one way or the other I didn’t get any closer to finding the truth, just the picket wedging up there a little further.
Couldn’t you just say something?
I knew what I wanted the moment I saw I you. Don’t get mad at me. It wasn’t me who made your voice dance inside my ear.
So I shut the door to your car, looked both ways then jogged across the road. I got to the gate and you shouted my name. What? I said and went back to you. Come here. You said. I leaned in and put my hand around the back of your neck and ran my fingers through your soft hair.
The talking, the food, the loud singing, the stiff dancing, the cold beach, the driving, the bonfire in the distance, the pinching your leg on the ride home and the kiss.