recollection

and maybe this is what it comes to - late nights illuminated only by the screen of your phone where you’ve tucked it beneath the covers, holding it close to your chest. tired eyes threatening to slip closed as the clock ticks up and up, church bells striking one-two-three in the distance. maybe telling people is overrated, why put yourself at risk when you can have your nighttime secrets, your twilight sweetheart, star-crossed lovers only after dark.

the thing is, she’s so perfect, and you don’t want to ruin it. the thing is, she’s everything you could ever hope for and more, and you don’t know whether what you have could hold up under sunlight. you don’t know whether her promises of saccharine, sapphic devotion will come to life past dawn, whether she’s telling the truth when she talks of red lips pressed against your skin.

the thing, you know, is that you just don’t know.

and that’s the real reason you’ve never said it out loud, never told anyone what the two of you have, your ten-point text on twitter past dusk. you’ve never said that word aloud before, the big one, never admitted what you are unless you could type it and be sure of reassurance back. it’s a weight on your chest like no other, it’s an ache that threatens to claw its way to the surface every day that you battle it down.

you wonder what her lipgloss would taste like. whether her hands would be as soft against your cheeks as you think they would. whether her hair would tangle in your fingers as you ran them through the soft waves, and whether she would laugh. 

you wonder, most of all, whether your midnight violet wishes she was laid beside you, too.