This Would Sound Different If I Weren’t So Crazy About You

You know that thing I do with my shoulders? Where I sort of shimmy them up and down, side to side, and call it dancing? I know you do, because that night at the bar in that room with the sticky floor and pulsing bodies and pounding beats where everything and everyone melted away and it was just you and me and the music in the middle, well that was pretty much the only move I had to offer. I was self-conscious and sober because I had promised your sister I’d get you home safe, but you didn’t seem to mind and took my hands and shared your rhythm.

Well I’m doing that thing with my shoulders now, alone in my car, while I’m driving. I’m sure it looks ridiculous, but I don’t care. There’s a song playing on the radio that’s making me do it. I don’t know the words but it doesn’t matter because I remember the words we whispered on your couch and the rhythm in your hands and now my fingers are tapping the wheel and I’m singing the words I don’t know and moving my shoulders and I don’t care who sees.

I was going to write about that night with the rain at the place with the drunk and the awkward kiss and it was going to be sad and melancholy, a reflection on a thing never realized, because that’s usually where these things go, or don’t, when I’m involved. But instead I’m moving my shoulders and singing this song and thinking of your lips pressed against mine and this beat just won’t stop.

I’m sure I’m coming on too strong but I find I just don’t care like I usually do, worrying about who likes who more, or less. This isn’t a zero sum game, and yours and mine aren’t added but multiplied or maybe expanded exponentially so that the parts fade in the face of the product. I left my calculator back on the ground and am enjoying the flight. Your smile just feels too right.

Someone should stop me before I burn out, catch fire as I reenter the atmosphere. No, wait, don’t. A new song is coming on.

I still don’t know the words.