i'm sitting here thinking about writing not to a you
but to a softer eyed reader
thinking about her, and making her mixtapes
a summer of unexpected friendships and old ones
of giving myself without reservation and reveling in the lack of hesitation
us seated around a black ikea dinner table
or switching spots on couches
all calling out the wrong names
on the beach with our toes in the sand
grains in the pizza box
and wine in the plastic cups
feeling the evening twinged with that high school angst
but feeling fuller with the long island sound spread out in front of me
and the city lights
wondering to myself--how did I get here?
but happy to have found my way.
(wanting this morning to be able to hold onto this
to have this measured confidence in a pebble
warm against my thigh)
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