D is for Dangerous

I saw your name written in the stars and it made me smile because usually we can't see the stars from here. The sky was clear and the ground was cold, but I stayed there anyway because the moon was almost full and I don't think I've ever seen anything like it before. Maybe I haven't.

Your name's a nice name, though. It's pretty and simple and not ugly like 'Gertmein' or 'Vladimir' or odd names like that. It's a nice name, and it didn't capture my attention at first, but it feels nice when I say it, and say it again, and mix it in with other words that sound just as nice but aren't really. But nothing's as nice as your name, really. Not even you. You're not nice. You're arrogant and handsome and funny and dangerous and not nice, but you're so yes and I don't know how to stop myself from tracing your tattoo onto the sky to see if I can make a new constellation.

It's been a long time. So long. And you're looking at me like it's been a long time and it has and all I want is you, and your name, and your smirk and your eyes and your t-shirt, because it's comfy and fits me better than my own ever could. You wear sunglasses a lot, dark Ray-Bans or gold-rimmed aviators that make you seem that much more appealing, even if they do hide the prettiest green there ever was. The rest of you isn't very pretty - it's tall and sculpted and indecently good-looking and sometimes it's hard to be with someone so much better looking at me, but then you'll give me that look, that one, and it doesn't mean I love you, it means something so much better, and it's all I could ever ask for.

The first time you said it to me, the very first time, I was walking home after some party or other and you came out of nowhere, your eyes flashing and you had an arm around my waist and you kissed me like dangerous boys do and then you said it, you actually said it, I need you and I told you I loved you even though we both know I shouldn't. We were trashed and I couldn't find my keys so we went to the park and stayed there all night, the moonlight falling short of the ground because clouds swooped in and took it all away. We lay on the grass and sang Hey Hey Girl and Fluorescent Adolescent and I knew you were special even before you knew all the words to Chelsea Dagger.

You're a magnificent specimen, a beautiful creature, and I don't know what they did but whoever made you did a pretty fine job of creating the most independent miscreation of broken nightmares in the world. I bet you were born in the clouds. It would look so good, and you always look so, so good. You're a wild young thing and I can't tame you because I want to be just like you. I'm young and I'm a thing, but I'm not wild and outrageously wonderful like you are.

Maybe I should stop talking about you. Maybe I should talk about myself. I was an odd little thing, the only times I captured attention was when I was clumsy and people could see me, this big, tall, ridiculous thing clambering around before trying to become graceful. Sometimes I was graceful, and when I walked my hips moved just so and my back was straight and I could stride with ease, like I owned the place. Other times my joints felt strange and I could only wobble on unbearably sore feet and I felt like I was just too much, too much. Sometimes my fringe looked oily and my skin was too shiny and my lipgloss looked garish, but other times my hair was glossy, my lips were soft, and my skin was the prettiest thing ever. The first time you saw me, that's what I looked like, with powder on my face and blush dusting my cheekbones and a hint of Lovely by SJP on my wrists.

I wasn't quite entranced with you then, but I looked at you from the corner of my eye and you were looking right at me like I was worth little more than dirt. Maybe that was the good thing. The thing that compulsed me to stand up for myself, to shoot back demeaning and witty comebacks at you and whoever else dared to insult me. Maybe it was a good thing I slapped you. It made me feel me and it made you feel me and even if you pretended to be offended, I knew I'd made you smile. I've never really seen you smile, you're mysterious and you lie about so many things, but I'm drawn to you and I'm getting worse.

And now I'm just lying here, writing your name in stars that like to shine, and I'm wishing you were here with me when I know you're blowing cash and getting drunk and I know you're not missing me, even if you're needing me. It's a beautiful night, actually, and I know that on beautiful nights you're being beautiful too.

And then I can see you. You're name's finally written in the stars, interlocking and creating the best thing in space since the big bang. You lie next to me, but then you balance your weight on your elbow so that you're looking down at me, and gods you're so perfect and I wish I was as beautiful. "I need you," you say, and the second your breath hits me I can tell you've been drinking, just like I knew you were, but then you kiss me and I shut my eyes and I lose sight of your name because who needs stars when I've got this?