Summer

The summer he didn’t propose to me

I broke a bit for a while

I threw up some armor

Filled in the fractures when they came

On weeknights

I would meet Sarah and Emily

at the Cat and Fiddle on Hollywood Boulevard

We’d grab a bench on the outdoor patio, lie

and tell the waitress we’d order food in a while

And watch the sun set rose-colored behind the buildings

People sitting with their elbows on tables

Hyped up after work and happily chatting

I’d suck on a wine glass

Never getting as drunk as I wanted

But knowing if I kept it up I’d be sick

We would talk about anything

except for the fact that he hadn’t asked me

We’d make jokes and choke and spit up

It was

A line to the courage I required

to drive home and sit silently beside him on the couch

A cord to the restraint I would need

not to perch on the red brick steps that led to our backyard

and scratch my arms with my fingernails until they bled

It was the only reason I did not disappear that summer

But instead kept coming, coloring myself back in

until I was solid again