One day you will be stupider than I would’ve thought possible. You’ll surprise yourself, while not surprising, because every bold-seeming move is a somewhat pre-figured one on your part, an off-kilter step you knew you’d take when needing to force your skin.
But I will stand by you. If it’s illegal, in question, unwise or simple, I’ll take the risks you need to take with you. I’ll die if that’s the route you’re on, if there’s little leg room or leeway.
Once I was stupider than you’d allowed for and you let me be it and told me I was and I wasn’t and played every action to its finish, conclusion. You really love board games and card games and video games and sex games and word play and squash court banter.
I name this cocktail after you knowing what Darwin had in mind with that thesis, the one he tried to retract when he realised what it did to religion. But there aren’t take backs. Take backs are a plethora of swear words that you only need to know that I’m thinking.
You’ve been using my flat while I figured out steps after your dad got me fired, and your mum said she’d help us, which turned out to be lies, and you got inundated with texts until you were sure we were broadcast, we would be, on Wanted posters in town, blogs.
But no-one revealed the secret. I unveil it now, after so many months, speculation, false accounts, police reports, sightings, harassment filings.
Because if the first time we kiss in public is this, if you don’t count when you grabbed me outside of school the day I left when you really weren’t meant to, I want people to know that it’s us and be used to it. This is not a crime. Or it might be, but whatever.