Slam poetry

I think if we’d met under different circumstances, we wouldn’t be talking like this. We’d do the polite version. Weather. Work. That fake laugh people do when they’re agreeing without agreeing. But this - this is better. This feels like a revolution.

I think people like us - assuming you’re like me, which might be rude - we just want connection to feel effortless. Like it happened accidentally. No pressure. No one keeping score.

But then you notice the other person breathing, or blinking, or pulling away just a little, and you wonder if you leaned in a little too much.

I’m saying all this like I’m calm, but I’m actually very hyper-aware of my hands right now. I never know what to do with them. They either look too big and grope-y or like I’ve forgotten they exist. I bet yours look nice. Lucky bastard.