Love, or at least Like

Bubbles.
Bumbles.
Brambles.

Bubbles pop.
Bumbles buzz.
Brambles tear.

You weren't asleep for very long
when I decided to leave.
You're a very heavy sleeper,
making those sleeping noises that only you can.
It didn't even matter that I
stepped on your calf when I climbed over you
to get out of bed.
Sure, you flinched a bit,
then turned your head and went back asleep.

It was maybe 1 in the morning by now,
so you'd only
been asleep for an hour, maybe.
I could tell you didn't want to sleep;
and well,you even told me that.
You'd said: “I'm so exhausted! But I don't want to sleep.
You distract me.”
That's what you said.

When I crawled over you to get out of bed,
I planned on leaving
for good.
It's not that you weren't right for me,
it's that I wasn't right for you.
But as I opened the door of the bedroom to leave,
you made one of your sleeping noises, the kind
that is startling in deep silence.
I turned and looked back at you, with your arm
still in the same place it had been when I was
lying next to you.
You thought I was still there.
Then you made one of those “hmmmmm” sounds.

I knew I had to leave, but not for good.
At least not yet.
So I went into the backyard,
which is a forest basically.
Tall trees, uncontained bush.
It was beautiful at sunset,
but now I could barely see anything.
But the moon was out, a full moon.
I sat at the edge of the deck,
staring out at the vast sky,
looking at the neighbors' houses, wondering if they felt
the same way I did.

You remember that container of bubbles you
had on the deck? Yeah, it was still there.
So, I decided to blow some bubbles.
I watched some of them float away,
but most of them got popped
by the brambles.

Usually birds sit on those brambles, and the
bees buzz nearby.
But it was so late.
Nature knows when to sleep.
I sat there, dreaming. I thought I could see
a bird sitting in those brambles, and those
bees buzzing around it.

I remembered that day when we danced
around the brambles, trying to avoid
falling into them.
But that day, we did fall.
You got stung. The bees have always liked you better.
I got scratched.
I remember how we hurt so bad and nothing could soothe us.
Then you wanted to blow bubbles, those really big bubbles.
So that's what we did.
You blew one straight at me, and it
popped on my scratched arm.
Nothing has ever felt better.
We had found the Balm of Gilead--bubble soap.
We ran to the store and bought
gallons and gallons of bubbles
and practically bathed in those bubbles.
Our bodies healed quickly after that.

I blew bubbles and more bubbles and even
more bubbles until the bottle was almost gone.
It was mostly empty when I decided to set it down
on the deck next to my thighs.
But it spilled.
Just like that—bubble soap poured out onto my
shorts and legs.
Nothing has ever felt better.

That bubble soap healed me once again--it healed my scratches,
it healed my heart.
I knew what I had to do.
I ran inside, found the rest of the bubbles,
and poured them all over my now naked body.
Then I went back into the bedroom,
found you sleeping, still sleeping, still making those
sleeping noises, still sleeping in the same position.
I slowly slithered my way into bed,
right next to your warm body.
You opened your eyes slowly, looked my way, exclaimed
“POP!”,
and went back to sleep.