Bundled on the couch under a cover,
As the sounds of a classic black film hover.
“I’m a giver,” he explains.
Comforting her with his good-guy ways.
And all she could think is, “I’m the taker.
This will never work; he’ll get fed up sooner or later.”
But haven’t I earned it, though?
The right to think of me and me alone?
For once, this late-twenty-something is doing things her way.
The rule book is gone, and she’s calling the plays.
She wants what she wants when she wants it,
With neither apology nor a care for consequences.
So what does that mean for mystery man?
All she can do is be honest and hope he’ll understand.
Understand that he found her half way down a path of discovery,
And she owes it to herself to finish the journey.
Right now the priority is finding her voice, her passion.
Sitting on Her Lenox Stoop is her idea of perfection.
She has to enjoy this period of being in the selfish club,
Especially since the blink of an eye is what they’ve all warned her of.
So she smiles, and takes…
And hopes that he’s guarded himself against any possible heartache.