"Tag"
When Im with you I want to chase you through my backyard. Over the grass lawn, the straw in the field and into the woods. As we splash across the creek we stop to look for tadpoles. Maybe we whittle boats and race them down the stream. We compare pocket knives and talk about what animals we would be, if we werent humans. You show off how you can roll your tongue. I shyly smirk.
Dangling from trees like monkeys, eating candy. Earnestly looking into my eyes, you confess your secret desire to be a chef. The statement bursts from your mouth like a popped corn kernel, the vulnerable moment an abrupt departure from our playtime. Our eyes search one anothers briefly, unsure. Immediately you jump down from the tree and run off to explore the woods as if I dont exist. Hot. Cold.
What does it mean that I feel smothered by a need to be super charming and awesome when Im around you? The words get caught somewhere, like a badly skipped stone that sinks with a loud “plunk” as it hits the water.
I am 14, confused and trying to figure out these feelings for a girl who ran off into the woods.
Tag. Im it.
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