You are not mine to think about, but I still do.
I think about the way your body might feel between my knees or my palms; the way your face might look as I hover over or under you; the way your skin might smell in the darkness of midnight or in the late afternoon sun. I think about your mouth pressed against my spine in the dark. I think about your eyes closing as I kiss you. I think about how kind and brutal your lips would be to every inch of my skin.
I think about the simple things, too. I think about Sunday morning breakfast, and reading poetry out loud on Saturday nights while drinking whiskey by a fire, or the way you might look on a cold walk to nowhere in the middle of a December afternoon. I think about afternoons by the ocean, your palm pressed against mine, and the way the sea salt would smell in your hair as we fell asleep that night.
One moment we are eating olives and cheese from deli containers in the middle of Central Park on an early May afternoon, laying stomach down on a thin red blanket, reading books and watching people compete to be as in love as we are and the next moment my fingers are learning the way your skull becomes your neck, becomes your back, becomes the tender skin on the back of your thighs.
You are not mine to think about, but I still do—still know the way I would hold your fingers against my lips, my ribs, my hips, my heart if I ever got the chance.
I want to believe in love the way people believe that the sun will rise: with unrelenting certainty. But I do not believe in true love. I believe in compatibility, I believe in putting in the work to reap the reward.
But I also believe the phrase, “you and I,” will never come from your lips the way I wish it would. I believe in the very real pain of never being with you is causing me. I believe in my frailty, but most of all, I believe in my resilience- my ability to get up and find someone new, with whom I’m more compatible, after you leave.
You ask how it is that I’ve managed to remain single all these years. My answer is simple: I always manage to fall for people like you.
It is my belief that the greatest honor, or dishonor is committed when pen is taken in hand, capturing the essence of a stranger on the lines of a once blank page. Writing about someone remains unfamiliar for me. It is strange because writing about the people I encounter requires a peculiar and fragile balance between embellishment and falsehoods. It is the balance between recording their experience and claiming them as my own. If the balance is tipped too far to the latter, a lie is made; their story is lost forever.
NO “TELEPHONES”. TALK TO EACH OTHER. FACE TO FACE ONLY. WRITE A LETTER. SEND A TELEGRAM TO YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 1860. LIVE.
NO ‘WRITING’… TALK TO EACH OTHER. THROW A ROCK AT YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 10,000 BCE. LIVE.
URGGA. ROU GRAAURH. RUH.
<SMACKS HANDS ON WALL WITH PAINT.>
NO ‘HIGHER BRAIN FUNCTIONS’ …USE YOUR REPTILIAN BRAIN
EAT YOUR MOM’S CORPSE SHE DIED TO PROVIDE YOU WITH SUSTENANCE
PRETEND YOU HAVE JUST AROSE FROM THE SEA
NO “MULTICELLULAR TRAITS”….. USE YOUR SYMBIOTIC MITOCHONDRIA
REPRODUCE ASEXUALLY, YOU’RE YOUR OWN PARENT
PRETEND IT’S 2BYA
NO “LIFE.” USE FUNDAMENTAL PHYSICAL FORCES TO FORM SPHERICAL OBJECTS REVOLVING AROUND ONE ANOTHER IN SPACE.
FUSE HYDROGEN INTO HELIUM USING GRAVITATIONAL PRESSURE TO PRODUCE HEAT AND LIGHT.
PRETEND IT’S 4.5BYA.
STABILIZE INTO EQUILIBRIA
NO “MATTER”. EXIST IN THE VOID WITHOUT PURPOSE OR MEANING.
THERE IS NO “YOU”, ONLY THE VAST CONCEPT OF NOTHING.
TIME DOES NOT EXIST.
I feel like something really important just happened
Rebbloging this again.
"Blame white furries" I’m screaming this is literally me
save black people who aren’t me… honestly what kind of teriyaki teas
Down with white children???
freedom from black assault rifles
DOWN WITH BLACK MARIJUANA!
FEDORAS FOR WHITE DOLPHINS
Christians For Black Video Games
The war on the protection of children.
Christians for white bronies
access to violence against bronies
You make me want to doodle your name in my notebook like a lovestruck school girl, but instead I leave cryptic messages with no name.
do you ever cry because a black haired little boy wandered into your life when you were a kid and made you believe in magic and now many years later he’s still there with you and you just know you will stay at his side always no matter what because he’s just so important
I sat here thinking “That’s a highly specific personal experience for 43k people to relate to” for way too long before figuring out what this post was about