Bridget invites me under her umbrella
a shelter where her eyes offer
a glimpse of who I could become.
A real adult with stubble and a clever imagination.
We ascend her jungle green apartment steps
and I note that this is not an off-script encounter
in someone else’s adventure—this is
the new narrative of my own life.
The first thing I noticed the night we met
was the wind charm hanging from her neck
a silver triangle: Oh, you’re echelon too.
There aren’t many of us around anymore.
2 AM, eight months later I ask Bridget to try on
her birthday present. She pulls the 30 Seconds to Mars
girly fit t-shirt over her black party dress and I am
surprised she can stretch to fit into such little fabric.
It’s Bridget’s insistence to dream out loud
and the lyrics on her shirt become a burning mantra.
An assuring lightning bolt strikes—surges between us
Bridget whispers: You know I love you, don’t you?
My broken backstory melts into a puddle inside me.
Healing nights spent alone in my car, misunderstood
and unable to go inside and face that photo frame
with the wrong woman I can’t take off my nightstand.
Bridget shows me who I ought to be.
A real adult with another chapter waiting.
I center this mythical love in my sternum
say goodnight and run out into pouring rain.