Basement Closet

Weight.
His weight rests against her, her back pushed up against the wall.
Two weights rest against the door. The world on the outside no longer matters, it's just her and him and four thin walls.

Wait.
It's new and it's young and it's rushed but its beautiful.
It is exactly how life should be sometimes- frantic and completely in the moment.
They move as though they're attempting to speak without words, through their lips, their legs, their hands.
But finally words emerge, coming up to the surface of their vast ocean and breaking through silence.
"I love you."

Weight.
Suddenly the weight of his body, his words, is suffocating.
It is a cinder block perched on her chest, one on each shoulder.
She suddenly feels drunker, unable to control her thoughts, the beating of her heart, what she says next...
"I love you too."

Wait.
She still thinks of that closet today, the way his hands said he loved her before his words did.
She remembers how young she felt in that moment, how everything felt like it was just beginning.
Now all she can do is look back. She sits and waits for something like that to happen again.

Weight.
Some days she feels so light, like she could fly.
Some days she just feels empty, like her head may detach and float away, like she could really use his weight to hold her heart down.