I want to be a balloon
so you’ll you tie my string around your wrist
as a reminder not to cut there—
(you might miss and cut me off)
or a surfer’s square-knot bracelet threaded in twine
and a wristwatch
and I’ll cover your scars
and guard your veins.
We stood shielded by trumpet vines
with orange blossoms
facing the sunset behind the pine trees
of my childhood home—
and no scenery could be more romantic.
But you pull me in
and I pull away
and think of him
and realize I only know my love
by your love.
And he knows his lack of…
Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call. Go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone. Don’t wait for them to give you a sign ‘cause it might never come. Don’t let people happen to you. Don’t let me happen to you, or her. She’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane and run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now. Because they cannot regret this. I always thought I’d be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3,000 miles on four days’ notice because you can’t just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone’s idea of love, but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is; that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really.