Go with it

Did you give me two poems?

Did you come at me

With teeth like spears

Flashing in a smile,

Deadly when I imagine them

In the dark?

I just want to find someone

Who loves to play!

I’m afraid you’ll get tired,

Like I did, before you reminded me

That nothing is more exciting

Than a box of costumes 

And an imagination.

Catch me

I don’t know if I’m ready to get into dating

Because I’m afraid of the feeling

Of falling in love.

Which doesn’t mean you’re perfect --

There’s so much space

Between love and perfection, 

Between who I thought I wanted

And who you turned out to be.

The pieces of you that fit with me,

The pieces of you I said wouldn’t fit,

Yet made me laugh, and laugh,

The pieces of you that definitely did not fit,

But invited me to reimagine you.

I have enough space for your shape 

If I get to know your heart.

You outshine

Who I thought you’d be

And you’re handsome.

But I don’t know if I’m ready to get into dating

Because I’m afraid of the feeling

Of falling in love.

Relationships in the Time of Corona

These times remind me of the concept of Yin and Yang, or as Wikipedia puts it, "a concept of dualism, describing how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another." Right now, people are being asked, en masse, to draw together for a common purpose of collective isolation, or to join forces to force themselves away from one another. Taking some time apart will help us overcome, together.

I find myself wanting to dive deeply into this contradiction, to isolate fully--as a means of protecting my friends and family--while using this moment as an excuse to connect with people at a level usually reserved for "time." 

Many deep long-term relationships -- romantic, platonic, it doesn't matter -- are intentionally built through time. Stories of our pasts are meted out judiciously, like a ration of toilet paper and hand sanitizer. Someone calculates the optimal profit/restriction ratio, sets an internal policy, and whispers, "I think you've had enough, for now. We can come back to this tomorrow."

But when the horizon of time becomes uncertain, when we are told, "You may lose your life or contribute to the loss of life of someone you love," what happens to this concept of time and connection? All that I can share with you exists in the power of my now. Text me, now. Open up to me, now. Love me, now. There might not be tomorrow. Nothing is certain. As far as I take myself away from you, I need to get correspondingly closer. 

In that spirit, there are a lot of people I love more intensely, right now. Maybe I should tell more of them.