Enticed at the first mention of drag, we talked our kings and found laughter in the silly string of conversation we covered in each other. I remember the dude that tried to drop “suave” lines to gather up my IG handle, as we sat on the sideboard with splattered booze and watermelon on the floor. We eyed each other with a “I wish he would leave us on the other side of the door.”
After we make our escape we climb through this prince’s house, finding golden bathrooms and skylights, with light shimmering on the ocean in your eyes.
We stood slouched in the hallway outside the bathroom, taking out pieces of vulnerability and passing it to each other to understand. I wondered whether she wanted to kiss me that night. I wondered whether she felt bubbles in her belly that I struggled to keep down tight.
Tight feeling in my chest when I felt we were getting close. It was like trying to wake up from a dream that I didn’t want to leave. Confused of the thought that this is me now. That it’s difficult knowing it is a freedom that is hard to take, without the ripples of dread reaching ears that are blind with hate. The danger that comes with self-expression.
Those bubbles in my belly stayed down tight as we returned back to the party. Glimpsing from time to time. Until I left alone, thinking of ocean eyes. Hoping that we’ll stumble upon each other someday and those bubbles will rise and pop into words I’ve always been meaning to say.