The ImPACTS of love.

     On my notebook, I write words like, "my" and "mind".
This is followed by several lines of black ink, zigzagging back and forth over these two words.
The sound my energy drink makes while popping the lid, it sounds like air escaping from a Goodyear tire.
I take my pen and cross a zigzag line over "Goodyear" and write "Michelin."
Where I am is sitting on my couch. Unable to fall asleep, I sit and write.
The television in front of me wants to know if I'd like to try the newest formula for hair growth. The advertisement tells me that actors and common people like myself have all had success.
The thoughts that keep me awake tonight are primitive ones.
These thoughts are of naked bodies with naked egos, laying on a mattress of stripped down vulnerability, falling on a blanket of uncovered emotions.
The thoughts keeping me awake tonight are thoughts of blue and soft pink, followed by thoughts of dark windows and warm breath.
My pen crosses out the word "pink" and writes "peach". My pen crosses over the word "peach" and writes "pink"
The television in front of me tells me to, "act now."
It says, "only 3 easy payments of $19.95".
It tells me to act now, and I'll get the shipping and handling for free.
The digital clock in the bottom right hand corner tells me it's a half past midnight.
The energy drink in front of me tells me I'm tired, and will crash and be more tired in two, maybe three hours.
Tonight I lay awake and think of gentle reminders over loud billboards.
When you love someone and loose someone, these reminders becomes a giant billboard. A billboard that follows you around where ever you go. It lets you know that this person you love is a television show or a commercial.
She's an inside joke or a restaurant or a slice of cake with chocolate icing.
All of these are reminders of the time the two of you shared.
All of these are reminders of the times you took for granted and would like nothing else but to get them back.
In tiny letters, my pen writes the word, "chocolate" in front of the word "cake"

The window tint on  her driver and passenger side windows, they tell me it's okay to move forward. 
The large windshield in front of me, the one with wiper-blades and a small family of four in front, this tells me to stay exactly where I am. 
Where I am exactly, is in the front passenger seat, laying with the seat back, with River laying in my lap. 
My right hand slowly slides down her right thigh, between both her legs. 
River's soft pink lips meet my lips while the palm of my hand rubs over a pair of denim jeans. 
Her moan and breath tell me to keep going. 
The white Chevy Blazer that parks next to us, tells me to stop. 
This is the first day River and I hang out, outside of our writers' group. 
This is the first day we've given each other more than one word to write about. 
Ms. River looks up at me, through her deep blue eyes and tells me she wants it to be different this time. 
"I really like you." She says. "I don't want it to be like every other time with every other guy." She says. 
I rub my fingers through the side of her maple brown hair and say, "Okay." 
Looking through tinted windows and bug marks, my right thumb swipes the side of her porcelain cheek. 
"So where are you trying to go with this?" I ask. 
"I don't think we should have sex yet." She says. "Not right now." She says. "I think we should wait three weeks." She says. 
Right now my heart sits in the passenger seat and beeps. It pulses and moves to the sound of an unexpected emotion, one it's never played before. 
My primitive male reaction is to say something like, "Three weeks, one day, it's all the same." 
Instead, I look down into these hazy eyes and say, "sure." I say "that makes sense." I say "yeah, okay". 
The funny though about love, it doesn't have to be three weeks or two months or one year. It can be the first day the two of you spend alone. 
The funny thing about love with River, it can be the moment before the moment's actually started. 
Before silver cars and passenger seats and denim jeans, I was already in love. I was already in love with blue eyes and pink lips. I had already painted a portrait of porcelain skin on a billboard to follow me at every twist and turn. 
The funny thing about love is it doesn't matter if it's one day or three weeks or one year. 
If it's love, time shouldn't make a difference to make it. 
I look down towards Ms. River, into these hazy eyes and I say, "sure." I say "that makes sense." I say "yeah, okay". 


Where I am is on a couch.
The television in front of me wants to know if I'd like to save 10 percent on car insurance.
The pen in my right hand and the paper in my lap, they both want to know if she'll ever come back.
The heart underneath my plain white T-shirt tells me she will.
Tonight I sit in front of a Television, one that tells me all about E-trades and E-harmonies and Esurances.
I sit on a couch wide awake, trying to find the key to open my mind.
The words that keep me awake tonight are "emptiness", "loneliness", "volatile".
If I'm going to write, then I'm going to open my heart, pump blood out through my left ventricle and move from hope to promise.

So River and I, we sit in a parked car and make a pact. 
The funny thing about pacts, they don't usually last as long as they intend to.