One Syllable Guide to Becoming A SFB

Meet a boy, or girl. Then wait, pray, hope. They will ask you out on a date. 


Let them pick you up from your place. Eat a meal, drink some wine. Tell them small things: deets on your job, the name of your sis and your bro. If you still like them, let them walk you home. If you still like them, hug them. When they ask you when will you’ll next meet, just say soon. Til then, think of their hands, their breath.


Next date: bike rides and ice cream. A walk in a park. Breathe in: their trees, their eyes, your life.  Lay down next to them in bed. If you still like them, touch their hand. If you like them a lot, kiss them. Show pics of the cat you had when you were a kid. Read a page aloud from your all-time fave book.  If you still like them, take off your clothes. Let them hold you tight, skin on skin. Have sex with the light on. Take them to meet your mom and dad. Take them to meet your best friend. Take them back to the home you grew up in. Drive through the night down one long road. Play rock and roll, let them hear you sing. If you still like them, let them glimpse your dreams.


If you still like them, trust that you are safe. Let them pluck your faith, like a plum, from the dark part of your heart. Tell them what brings you joy and pain. Trust that they will hear you. Trust that they won’t hurt you. Walk a bridge at dawn, eat fries in bed. Cup their palms and place your past in them, your scares, your scars, your fears, like birds in a nest, young and warm. This is a big part of the deal: the light along with the dark. If you still like them then say “I love you.” This is how you heal: you break, you breathe, you mend. You break again. Make a choice to move on. Pick a date, rain or shine, a place, a gem for your hand. Say bye to the first part of your life. Put half-moon studs in your ears, paint your toes clear. Wash your face, pick out a rose in your hair. Wear a white dress. Say I do then be done. Make a home. Make a fire. Climb in the warm salt bath, brush your teeth side-by-side. Watch  sun stream through dust beams at dawn. Get in a fight. Take a hike. Draw a heart in the dirt then go back to your home.  Make up, make love. Be both halves of a whole: the now and the then. Make a baby. Give birth while they watch. Spin your life out like thread; watch it float, fling, fly. Kiss the fat legs of your babe, cook a pie, do or die. Watch the days of your life bloom and fade. Have peace and faith; not fear and fight. Say thank you twice a day. Walk in the dark, look up at the stars. — Molly Guy

Image: Harpers Bazaar