it tasted like palo santo, if that’s even possible
it was about four years ago that i remember fearing love, then fearing it again two years after that. my words rarely matched what lingered inside of me, and i often wished i could rewind our conversations, reboot, start over. i knew that love was present but didn’t know if i was worthy of it. i knew that it was all i wanted and also knew it wasn’t like a job listing or menu item or skincare product.
maybe i didn’t know that, actually. maybe i really thought the fantasy was material i could access with the right coupon or cover letter; maybe i was just saving up for the investment.
internally, i saw deficiencies where there were plenty of rivers flowing with pebbles that each had stories and jokes and melodies, singing along to the radio in a lower or higher octave. do you ever do that? do you ever close your eyes and imagine singing to the most merciful and supreme, who does nothing but smile back at you? i suppose i was doing that when i wasn’t anxious about being me and being alone.
i want to tell you stories. i want to make you laugh. i want to sing as i do when i feel most at home, this time with you.
a week follows my first journey and i don’t need a reboot anymore.