Maybe In Another Universe, Another Time

Franca Gimenez
Franca Gimenez

I guess it’s true what they say.

Timing really is a bitch.

I tell him this as I lazily roll over onto my side, his hand running in circular motions on my lower back.

“Nah,” He responds. “Bitches are cool. Timing is far, far worse.”

I laugh and he buries his face in the space between my neck and shoulder. I can feel the breath from his nose on my skin and it makes me feel a little like I’m coming undone. In a good way. Beyoncé’s “Crazy In Love” could start playing out of nowhere and I don’t think I question it. I’d just nod. Yep. You get it, B.

These things happen, I think. These things actually happen.

I wonder how long we can stay in bed together before society asks questions. Will they notice? Will my mom send a massive search party with red lettered HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL signs plastered on every street corner? Can we stay in this universe we’ve created when we know all things end? Even the impossibly good ones.

I think of just saying fuck it. Fuck the notion of responsibility and making the adult choices in this. He is here, in my bed, and for someone who hates sharing her bed, it’s making me a bit dizzy to realize him leaving it will hurt. Saying goodbye and making sheets and putting all of this could be to bed will physically hurt.

We knew we had an expiration date. I thought a summer fling would do me some good. I needed casual. I needed fun and heat — not just temperature wise. I wanted someone for now.

And then, like every cliche romcom out there, we fell in something else. We were a summer fling that graduated to feeling like the real thing.

But timing. The timing wasn’t right.

He kisses the top of my head and I want to ask him to not go. I think of abandoning everything I’ve created and just going with him. He will return to the opposite side of the world and I can’t go with him. I know it. He knows it. We all know it.

But right now, we are not the almost lovers we are destined to become. Right now, we are forever. Right now, we are asking time to give us just a little more and knowing it’s unrealistic to expect something so short-lived to last with so many miles and time zones between us. Right now, we’re just us.

And how I’d love to be an us just a little longer. TC mark

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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