You’re in a car with a
beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you,
but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done
something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed
pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and
you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful
boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love
him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and
you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches
you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel
your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve
discovered something you didn’t even have a name
for.
— Richard
Siken