for some reason we were talking about tattoos that night, late, as the paint dried on the walls of the small room around us. i touched the circles on his inner forearms. we talked about faith, and how those marks were a reminder. i asked him if he had any others, and he said “do you want to know? maybe i should let you wait and find out.” he said it with laughter in his voice, with me perched on a stool in my skirt and boots and sweater like the night.

i didn’t find out, and i had forgotten until just now, watching all the real girls, when zooey deschanel touches the tattoo on her boyfriend’s shoulder and he laughs and says that he got it a long time ago.

you are in my bed again. how are you in my bed again? i laugh with your mouth against my skin, my hand on the back of your head protecting you from my nightstand. we toss about with laughter and kisses and mouths and skin and hands in hair and sheets and blankets and bodies half off the bed and fingers interlaced and fall asleep together, your body warm next to mine. in the morning i almost don’t want to wake you, your sleepy head on my pillow, your body curled up where mine was not too long before.

i think you might have known me since birth or before, the way your eyes meet mine and go beyond them. i think if you were ever to touch me i would shatter into a thousand pieces and become a part of the dust and air and the ice in your glass.

we touch each other in the casual way that characterizes our conversations – your hand soft on my back, my hand cupping the side of your face, your arm around my waist as my hands cover my mouth when i laugh. you kiss my cheek, then slip away to greet other friends that have just arrived. later you find me in the crowd, making snarky comments about the people rocking out around us. when you make your departure i reach through the rows of people that separate us to touch your shoulder, saying “it’s really too bad that you’re not into me.” you step back towards me, gently kissing my mouth, and say “i’m not as good as i seem.”

in the middle of the crowd in the middle of the set in the middle of a cold dark night we stand looking at each other, perfectly still as people jump and scream and sing and dance around us. in this moment we are alone, and i half expect you to kiss me, but instead you say “will you go out with me?” and i don’t know what to say.