Armrest

Photo by Alicia Christin Gerald on Unsplash

I talk through the movie:
plot holes, character arcs,
my theory about the ending
before we’re halfway through—
already quoting reviews,
framing the meaning
before you can feel it.

Your hand stays on the armrest.
Not reaching. Not pulling back.
Just resting, open, patient,
like a man who’s learned
to wait for me to stop.

I wonder if you’ve just given up
asking me to be different.
I keep talking anyway.

You never ask me
to edit my volume,
or not to invade
the space you leave.

Tonight I make the first move.
You let me.
Until you take control.

I fall quiet.
Not because you asked.
Because I choose the fall.

©Just Kayla, 2025

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