“Go to him. You deserve to be happy.”
“What if I get hurt?” you ask me.
“You will. I know you love boxing so let me put in this way. You’re a boxer. They always tell you protect yourself at all times. Keep your hands up. And you should. But you won’t win if you don’t make a swing. And when you swing you open yourself to take a punch. You will get hit. You will get battered. You will get bruised. And that’s okay. Because you won’t find what you want if you don’t open yourself up.”
“And I’ll be right with you every step of the way. I’ll be in your corner. When you fall down, I’ll be there. I’ll stitch up your wounds. I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines. I’m your best friend. I will take care of you and I will get you through this.”
I look at you, seeing the ideas swimming in your head. And you nod and you give me a peck on the cheek. Then you run off into the club, looking for the love of your life.
“Go get him,” I whisper after you.
You don’t hear me of course. You flash that beautiful smile of yours one last time until the doors of the club swallow you.
“I love you,” I whisper again.
Then I look at the crescent moon before I walk away – a boxer that never learned how to swing.