Express The Distress

extordinary

You're in a truck that you love with the boy that you love listening to whatever music he puts on. It doesn't matter that you aren't particularly fond of the music, you listen to it with a smile on your face anyway. Because you like that his style is different and that his taste is somewhat exotic. It's refreshing. It's cool. And when he sings you feel this warmth inside that you can't explain, you just know you enjoy hearing his deep comforting voice. You can't help but watch him as he sits next to you with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping beside him to the beat of the song looking so effortlessly beautiful. His dark eyes idly trained to the road but every so often he glances over at you with that lazy half-smile that makes your heart pitter-patter and fall harder.    

In the second that your eyes catch, "I love you" stains the tip of your tongue but you can't seem to say it. You want to but it's stuck there, stubbornly keeping you quiet. You want to so bad, it just won't come out. You mean it though with all of your heart. And you want to touch him because the short distance between you seems like miles and miles away but you're always second-guessing everything you do. So you keep your hands to yourself even when they are itching so badly to just reach over. And for some reason, it becomes difficult for you to sit still, so you begin to shift in your seat. Your foot begins tapping on the floor and then you can't take it so you sit criss-cross apple sauce, changing your position every five minutes.

But god do you feel it. That urge to touch him. It's overwhelming to the point it's uncomfortable. And you can't stop thinking about it no matter what you do. In your lap, your hands are fiddling, clasping, and unclasping in the way that sweat makes your hands slippery enough to do so. You feel trapped inside yourself and it's eating you up. All you are thinking about is him and him alone.

And when the air becomes too thick and you feel like you're finally about to combust he places a hand on your jean-clad thigh. And that's all it takes. Because for some reason the air re-enters your lungs and your mind begins to mellow. That terrible itch swallowing you whole stills and slowly dissipates. Your lips unseal and part and you can feel the motion of your mouth again.

And you wonder if he knew—if he could feel it too.

Then he asks, "Are you okay?"

You melt. You melt because somehow he knew. He knows you precisely. And something about that is beautiful. He is beautiful. And in your chest, the love you have unravels and travels to your every limb filling you full and then fuller. It doesn't stop because you realize there is no fullest. There is no limit to what he makes you feel, no exact word for the feelings that flourish in your heart. You've never felt this before.

It's new. It's extraordinary. And you know that you don't ever want it to go away.

So you pray—pray silently, to God he's here to stay.