I would give anything to be unhappy with you right now at that cajun restaurant in Jensen Beach. Awkward silence, hard conversations, blank stares, half-drunk Hurricane, sweat pouring down our necklines.
I would give anything to cry again outside Liv as I struggle to rationalize my college days with life after. Black dress with rhinestones and cut-outs in all of the right places, neon pink light, crossed arms, blistered feet, red cheeks.
I would give anything to stand against the cool wall of the Walgreens on US-1 as you beg me to get back in the car, unable to make sense of anything. Mascara-stained cheeks, alligator skin miniskirt, red marks around wrists, headlights, steam from the humidity.
I would give anything to throw my Leprechaun hat at you in my Williamsburg studio as I angrily wonder how you arrived so late for our weekend in the city. Emerald green sparkles, smeared red lipstick, heavy winter coats yet to be taken off, an unpacked suitcase, brown innocent eyes.
I would give anything to have you bring my laundry back to my studio on the beach because we are afraid we might not see each other again. Hum of the refrigerator, defeated eyes red and puffy from tears, fast heartbeats, stillness like statues afraid to move in case it might end everything, a weathered white door unable to be closed.
I would give anything to call an Uber to take me to a dive hotel on the outskirts of town after our fight over some stupid movie where you told me you hoped to never see me again. Words we couldn’t take back, way too talkative Uber drive, your stoic body in the rearview mirror, families starting at me as I entered the hotel with a tear-stained face, falling into a bed only to not sleep at all.
I would give anything to be sitting on your sticky leather couch fighting with you over nonsense like two-year anniversary gifts. Abandoned blue and green earrings, torn wrapping paper, half-packed suitcase, eyes looking anywhere except at each other, hearts breaking in the August heat.
I would give anything to be making my way through a dark chocolate fondue and a glass of moscato, waiting for you to finally come in from the car. Your headlights in the window, strangers trying to break my silence at the bar, stomachache from realizing there actually can be too much chocolate and marshmallows, a second glass of moscato waiting patiently, last call.
I would give anything to experience all of our worst moments over and over again…because I would rather have a million moments of angst with you than feel the emptiness I feel now a thousand miles away.