Right Now

Right Now

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

The floor is very cold; I can feel its coolness through my jeans, which is confusing considering how hot it's been outside.

Recently, I've been trying to be more aware of my surroundings.

The floor is cold and the room smells good and the song from the 80's that's blasting through the speakers makes me miss an era that I never got the chance to see.

I'm feeling pretty good, and I don't know if it's because of the song or the smell or the boy who's sitting next to me while holding my hand.

Maybe it's a little bit of all of it.

His kisses are salty because of the pretzels he just finished off, and when he leans against me and speaks, I can feel his voice echo from deep inside his chest. 

I hope he doesn't mind me writing about him. 

I also hope the fact that I'm writing about him doesn't make his ego any bigger than it already is.

I usually write about people in retrospect; way after the fact, so that maybe they won't know that I'm writing about them.

I've lamented over the fact that my writing is sometimes very transparent.

I was corrected, however, and told that it is honest, and that that is how you tell a good story. 

So then, here are the honest facts: the floor is cold, the room smells good, there is no 80's song with my name in it, the boy next to me is going to know that this poem is about him, and I just let myself feel the happy as the happiness was happening.

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