I remember what it feels like to fall for someone.
As they take up real estate previously occupied by mundane tasks,
until even mundane tasks seem joyful.
I imagine how they’ll look at me when they first see me again, after a little while.
How they’ll idly touch me because it feels so easy and natural to touch me.
How they’ll show me all the beauty they have found as they move through their days.
I’ll want to cook for them, and drink too much wine with them.
We’ll stumble into my bed and emerge only when we need a snack.
Slowly, they’ll become the audience I sometimes write for,
The person I think of when I discover something to share.
I’ll want to see pictures of them when they were children,
Ask them questions that I know they’ll find difficult to answer.
I’ll listen, and open up my heart so they know their fragile secrets are safe with me.
My own secrets will become offerings, my tender places rolling over like petals in a rainstorm.
I’ll think about touching them in ways they’ve never been touched.
I’ll help them realize what they never knew they wanted.
I’ll see the world the way they do, and imagine it’s so close to my own sight
that it was just meant to be.
And then what?
I don’t need any more babies.
I have a family.
I don’t want a provider.
I like waking up alone just as much as I like
lazy mornings with company.
I want to explore without limits.
Share whatever I want, whenever I want to.
Keep my meager treasures safe.
Guard this fragile heart.
Make my own decisions.
Kiss the occasional stranger.
Love on my own terms, which I’m only just beginning to lay out.
So perhaps it doesn’t matter if you don’t know what colour my eyes are…
Yours are a clear and golden hazel, flecked with shards of amber.
In them I see fireflies, and shooting stars,
and the reflection of me, exactly as I am in this moment.
And I am falling.