f**k balloons. [heroin, pt. 1.]

2/16/10.

We meet one night, late July.
We’re at a goodbye party
for a mutual friend.
I comment on your shirt,
interrupting you mid-conversation.
I wanted your shirt’s design
for my first tattoo.
You tell me that you do too.
Instant connection.
We spend the rest of the night
reciting memories of our friend,
slipping out of the party long enough
to walk to a corner convenience store.
You make me run across the street,
disregarding the cars.
I love the risk.
You make my heart flutter,
and my adrenaline rush.

Three months pass.
We belong to others now.
Our mutual feelings remain esoteric.
It is Halloween,
and I should know the mask you wear
isn’t fake,  but I’m hopelessly hopeful.
You hold me close when I whisper,
tell you about my demon.
“I love you,” is your only reply.
The next night,
we made a wish on a balloon and let it fly.
It could only be irony
that brought it crashing back to Earth.
We chased it like we chased our hearts,
and you kissed me behind the truck,
disheartened balloon in hand.
You make my heart flutter,
and my adrenaline rush.

I left my lover.
You left me.
One awkward night,
we sit across from each other
and I feel a seed of panic
blossoming in me.
You are leaving me.
This could be our last night.
There is a sadness in your eyes,
and you are drowning in it.
It is all I could do to tread water,
pray my head doesn’t dip under the surface.
But it’s inevitable, isn’t it?
You’re breaking my heart.
The pain envelops me,
and in a whole new way…
You make my heart flutter,
and my adrenaline rush.