evolution.
i remember me, young and awkward with too much hair and metal teeth and a self-assuredness i’ve lost somehow, seeing you and your parents, your sister, standing in the driveway next door, talking to the real estate agent. i sat on the chair in my living room and i remember thinking that i had seen you before, wondering if you’d be nicer than the kids who were moving out. i remember, vaguely, noticing you as you fooled around outside the orchestra concert our teachers took us to on a field trip. i don’t remember how many years ago— i’m fuzzy on the details.
and now here we are, aren’t we— college students, calm and cool and collected. your arm presses against mine in the movie theater, but it doesn’t mean anything; you are in a relationship which i do not have any part of, adult and grown-up and i am still just me, just becca, still coming to terms with things beyond my control. i still do not understand alcohol, i still do not understand sex, and i still do not understand you. but it has been six or seven years ( i’m fuzzy on the details ) and i am still in love with you.
