Always dreaming

After all these hard days, I’m pretty sure one day it’ll be over, I’ll get to run into your broad arms. You’ll hold me; you’ll smell good. None of this will matter.

I know I’m supposed to stop believing that. At my core, it’s a feeling I can’t shake.

You are so steady, so consistent; you tip toed out of my life so politely like the mornings you’d quietly grab your gym clothes in the dark to get dressed in the hall as I slept for another hour. I expect you to come back home, return to bed, shower fresh with a kiss. First, I’d feel your beard brush against me, still a little damp. At your insistence, I’d pry my eyes open, welcomed to the day by the vision of your cute face, basked in some daylight. You’d fill my field of vision before my worries could load. I felt glamorous.

This morning, I waited, but my cheek went untouched. By the time it was time to pry my eyes open, cheek-touched or not, I knew I didn’t want my eyes to use their open state to see, to see what wasn’t there. What isn’t there. 

I wake up. It feels like living in a hotel room. “I want to go home,” I think. Home to the place where I never have to worry.

I go to sleep, always dreaming. And I wake up, in the place where I went to sleep, always dreaming. Still alone. Unmoved, but I feel as far from you as ever.


Are you depressed?


The weather is so sunny; the sky is so blue; these are the shining days we pray land on weekends, and this time, they do.

The first sunny spring day: wardrobes refreshed, passersby pass by with extra kindness. It’s the first sight of blossoms.

You always post photos on beautiful days: these have been the most beautiful days. Where have you been?

It made sense when I saw you’d been out of town, but then again, it might have been a day trip. The sun’s shined and shined and shined, but to these glories, your social is still blind.

Are you depressed? I thought maybe you had blocked me online, blinding only me, but I don’t believe so. Are you depressed? If you are, please tell me; it’s not worth it to separate at such a cost. Are you depressed? Can I help? I’m not allowed to text you, but I want to text you and ask, “Are you depressed?”

Am I making this up? Is it normal to be depressed? Should you be depressed after a break up? I hope you’re not depressed. If you’re depressed, call me.


I’d actually be pretty okay

I’m starting to feel like it’s a little extreme to never talk again just because, oh, I don’t know, we just decided we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives together. We should probably be able to throw in a concert or a hug here or there, without disrupting the rest of our lives. In the meantime, I’ll probably fill in the rest of my life with lots of other people, some better company, many worse. And honestly, we don’t know how long the rest of our lives will be. If it’s a day, I’d actually be pretty okay with spending mine with you. 


Lives we choose

My overstuffed backpack presses on my shoulders, pushing down my upper body, leading my eyes to the ground. Bits of salad still lingering between my teeth, I dodge to the bathroom, confidently betting myself there’s at least five minutes until the final boarding call. Still, I move with urgency: I am commando, having forgotten to bring fresh underwear to lunchtime spin class. I can feel myself rubbing directly against my pants. 

An oversized bicep nearly collides with my face: Looking up, I see a man using his other arm to jokingly smack his beaming girlfriend: she laughs. They glide across the airport.

We smiled like that in this terminal.

Even though we decided not to spend our lives together, we could make it together, right? If we were alone in this world, the final woman and man on earth, we’d enjoy each other, I’m sure of it. If we decided to be, we would be happy together, like the tall couple chooses to be, today, now.