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werewolf
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her first true love was right after high school. they did everything together. it was strange, they didn't talk about all of their philosophical doubts, or questions or any of that, but they shared somehow the same conclusions, the same silent endpoints in that they knew how each other wanted to live. they knew how each other wanted to spend their sundays, what kind of drink was right for a summer midnight, what kind of snack to bring to the beach, how light a neck was to be kissed, where an arm should be placed when sleeping side by side. one night they were sleeping together at her parents house, who generally allowed that sort of thing, and he sat up in the darkness of 2 am and kissed her on the forehead. she was too tired to even respond, but she heard him say i love you. he got up as if to go to the bathroom, and that was the last she saw of him. he hadn't left a note or even talked to his family, he had just left. for a long time after that, she was cautious, she reasoned that girls had a lot more to lose than boys did in love, that they had to cloister and protect and hold tight, the way a fence holds in a garden. but soon after a few relationships, in which she talked a lot, about stars and meanings and lives well spent, but never really felt as understood as she had then, she realized she didn't have to worry about being hurt like that, like she did when she loved. and she discovered that when she had the secrets, when she wasn't understood, it was her who was wild, who men had to protect themselves from, hold away if possible. she looked at all of her loves, even her current one, sweet, nurturing, smart in the world of business and handshakes and good morning how are yous that's supposed to matter, as placeholders. she knew that he'd be back someday. he'd show up at her house on a lazy sunday afternoon in the summer, his car would be packed for the beach.
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040121
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