Monday afternoon: the sky— a very stingily blue whipped to white by winds from the north. Someone said that mornings are god’s time and somehow everything seems all right and most things are even possible. The afternoons, however, slip faster and faster and sometimes the night cheats by creeping slowly five. There’s a kind of radiance that comes over you when I look at you, sleeping and in a split second your eyes are open looking back at me. Your smile is my riptide and you are suddenly more than your daily self; a split second of your celestial self that shines out likes atoms releasing themselves from each other and then consequently more of their subatomic particles bursting like a nebula, right before my eyes.
I love you like a hurricane; you trickle through me like a patch of warm sun and summer blues.
When I close my eyes, forehead against yours, the center of the universe comes to live in me. I become so small within that vast space which spreads without limit, with tremendous speed, to consume all of me and all my past—everything before me. The darkness of outer space and constellations then engulf me but I could still hear you in the dark like a glow of a streetlight in the winter night, like recess bells and laughter in playgrounds. I’m keenly aware of your hands and the strokes against my form, my mouth only slipping away air while you talk. (I am rambling). I burst and bloom and my heart swells at both your presence and absence. I’m so glad you’re here. It’s true that I miss you easily and my head is a complicated pile of thoughts sometimes, burning through a whole lot of things like complicated neutron stars lost in black holes. Oh you know better than anyone how it goes. But I like that we can be apart and we are both okay that way. I like the space between us sometimes—it makes me crave and feel more human than ice. I have so many layers, waiting to be shed just for you.
Night cheats by coming shortly after four while we’re sleeping.
The remnants of the laziness of the afternoon.