I'm with you.

Reach out and touch me.

-Hilary Duff.


I am sitting on the swing with earbuds perched in my ears. That's where they are as that's where they've always been. As I swing, I wonder if I could ever meet someone who speaks Music just as I do. Maybe not so much in the music notes and instruments; pianos, guitars, saxaphones..... But someone who will listen to the music and someone who will listen to the words.... Listen to the words....

Then I wonder if anyone would ever listen to the words I say....

My iPod is asleep in my back pocket, tucked nicely inbetween the cold seat of the swing and the soft pressure of my body. I wonder why none of my favorite artists and none of my favorite bands have visited me in the last hour. I realize that I have forgotten to turn my iPod on. And then I forgot to laugh.

Maybe it's just the quiet. Quiet, quiet, quiet. Shall we listen to ourselves for a while? That may be too much for me.

You approach me. I take that back. You have been standing next to me, watching me swing, for quite some time. I wonder how long, but then I tell myself that that matters the least. For I have been waiting for you as you have been waiting for me. We wait, and we wait for each other, and we wait for ourselves.

I stare at you as I let my swing stop. My feet do not drag, nor do they swing. They fall and drift away as the ride slows and slows and it's like you're carrying me already. Immobility does not matter once we are both still, and we stare and we stare, and we stare.

I do not question, I answer.

You hold out your hand. There is no hesitation. I take it with will. I take it, though I do not know this hand. I have never held this hand in my life. I do not know if it is dirty or clean. I do not know the color. What I do know, though, is that my own hand is starting to mold perfectly into yours. Was I expecting otherwise?

I do not question.

I smell your scent for the first time. I decide I like it. It seems to be worth my while, at least here and now. Here and now is where we are. We, us, together. I take another breath and let you fill my senses.

Name, I can feel you thinking. But I do not want to question and I do not want to answer. Your name, as my name, has letters, each one starting with a capital.

You take my hand away from yours. I go with it because I know that it's all right here. You put your arm, instead, around my waist and hug me and hold me there as we walk through the empty park, the empty lot, the empty space, the empty space, the empty space...

We drift.

I decide here and now and there and forever that I like the way you hold me; I like the way your skin feels against mine. I like you and you like me, and I like you liking me. Maybe it's the other way around. Our motives are connected.

You speak. You do not ask me my name. You do not ask me my age. You do not ask me where I come from or why I am here or where I am supposed to be. You do not ask me that.

"Where?" you ask me.

"On an adventure," I answer you. And I answer you.