You Don’t Have to Say It.

By Bailey Andrea Tolentino

We just watched the sun set and I’m laying down in your lap.

Now, it’s dark, and we’re observing cars go down Tenth Ave.

You pet my face, hold onto that bit of my waist, and all of that cutesy shit.

I don’t quite know what time it is, but I feel it slow down the way you always make it.

My mosquito-bitten legs feel kind of dirty on the High Line’s wooden benches,

but I’m with you, so I don’t move. I lose some hold over my senses.

 I hate to sit on the floor but the look in your eyes

translates it to being grounded.

We press our foreheads against one another’s,

we forget that we’re surrounded.

Being in public almost makes it better. You still like me in this sticky weather.

You say it’s hot but never make me move. I finally feel I’ve nothing left to prove.

I hope to God that this is all real because I’m so scared of losing my grace.

I got mad at you for the first time today, but now this stupid smile’s stuck on my face.

We share your wired headphones, pretend we’re twenty years in the past.

I guess we have an Old Soul New York type of Love like that.

You confess indirectly, play me “Prototype” by Outkast.

You don’t have to say it, babe. I know it’s going fast.

We tell each other childhood stories and communicate through songs.

I stare at your lips. You pull me up and say my hair has gotten long.

You know you messed up, so on every other street, you kiss me at the light.

I think this feeling is the first in my life for which I’m willing to fight.

Green, yellow, red.

(The last is the color my cheeks begin to get)

Go, slow down, stop.

(There is too much to say, so I do not talk)

You squeeze my hand and start to cross.

oh, it’s time to walk.