Part I · Illusion

First Date

July 1st, 2018 Nervous, I sat tapping my leg— awake, alert, scared. Feigned ignorance when I saw you. For some reason, you made me shudder. Coffee on the patio— your laugh consumed the silence. Under the wooden deck arches, a summer mistletoe hung from nothing. You noticed my Saint Christopher medal. I told you it kept me safe. You smiled, said you liked men who still prayed. You reveled in my confessions— I spoke of the shelter, the syringe, the dogs I couldn’t save. How leaving made me feel like a murderer. My vow to never kill— an insurmountable hill. My silence— a pin drop away from breaking. You looked at me— eyes steady, voice soft. “Don’t cry,” you said. “It’s safe.” But nothing has ever felt safe. We walked the streets by coin flip— each turn a dare to fate. Your wild streak showed— we climbed a building to calm it. Twelve stories up. I fucking hate heights. But I followed. And at the top— we laughed. We danced. You were barefoot. I was breathless. I thought: Maybe, maybe— this was exactly where I was meant to be.