Tears reside in me like lost habits. I’m indulging in my wallowing and pastéis de nata. I know that if I allow one more teardrop to fall it could imitate a broken shower head and my landlord won’t stop complaining about the water bill. I wrote on my rent receipt,
“I’m leaking and I’m so sorry – he does this to me.”
Trapped in an era of languorous manifesting, I curl back up to him. The swirls of his fingertips riddle my nerves and I’m reminded why acupuncture is a necessity. His voice hovers over me and flickers in the ebony room light to mock star-shine. I reach up to capture one and to hold it forever like I’d do with him. His words touch me more than his hands can and I have to convince myself that he isn’t just an illusion. He exists as much as my lips can kiss and I’m tonguing down air right now.
I’m missing out on morning swollen eyelids. Impromptu breakfast cereals and telling him I love him before bathroom breaks. I don’t know how long they can take but I’ll take what I can get. I’ve watched I love yous stretch over the Atlantic and feel me up. I’m waltzing with my frantic obsessions for him. His soft gaze dilates like the phases of the moon and I drift into a dream that leaves him close to me.
Physically – there is nothing about us that’s physical at all but I’m free falling into his held out arms. He supports my strongest notions and my biggest oracle is us. Building an identity as one and lasting in it. I’d have him forever, over anyone else and if family was ever a word, we’d embody that. We’d create that. Without second guessing because I had never guessed I’d meet him. And I’m crying because I can’t actually see him.