If This Gets Out

by Sophie Gonzales

“Already? Didn’t you just say goodbye to him?” “Yeah but he’s my—Ruben.”

It’s funny how time and space cast a rosy glow over memories, making them seem less painful than they were in reality.

My attention is drawn to his lips. It’s clearly been way too long since I’ve kissed someone, since now all I’m thinking about is the feeling of them against my palm. They were so soft. I should figure out which lip balm he uses. I want mine to feel like that when I finally do meet a girl again.

I’ve noticed Ruben does this a lot. It’s like he never trusts his first thought.

My shift was a question, and his unwillingness to pull back is the answer.

When I kiss him, a small sound catches in his throat, and I think I might pass out. I open my mouth and kiss him harder, and I’m breathing in his exhale like it’s my oxygen. Kissing him is a key change colliding with a crescendo.

The thing about your dreams coming true is that, for a gold-spun moment, you catch a glimpse of what life could be like. Then when you lose it, and you crash back to reality, it’s from such a great height, all you can do is lie there, winded and bruised, while you come to terms with the idea that a happiness like that isn’t meant for you.

Once you’ve learned shame, it settles into your skin like a tattoo. You can cover it up but you can’t scrub off the sense of inadequacy.

To somehow trust that I’ll still have worth to the other person if I’m not earning it.

At the crux of it, everyone wants the world to see them as they are. The truth isn’t the problem. The problem is that the world doesn’t always make the truth safe for us to share.