I Want Every Uncomfortable Moment With You

You shrug into your seat on the left side of the couch, cushion tucked under your arm and the television on softly in the background. I watch the softness in which your body folds, relaxes. In the pale beige of the tired material, your sun-kissed skin makes a sea of neutrals and pinks. I long to fit myself into the crevice between your arm and the leftmost pillow, to feel the warmth of your chest, a reminder that in people we find comfort. In people we find homes.

Life, lately, has been in juxtaposition. My heart feels steady, but my dreams are running wild—ideas scrawled on paper napkins sprinkled throughout the room, to-do lists with feathered edges, notes and pens and scattered thoughts doing mazes in my head.

And then, every time I look at you, I remember I don’t have to be running so fast. I will get there. But right now, this moment, with you is what I have.

Right now, the space between us is merely physical, soon erased as I nuzzle my chin against your shoulder. Right now, there are no words left unspoken, or emotions hidden behind quiet faces, begging to be set free. Right now, we are in harmony, in rhythm, and I love the way your heartbeat feels so strong when I’m leaning on your chest.

We are comfortable. And I’m learning to be okay with this. I’m learning that comfort is not wrong because it does not have to imply stillness, or stagnancy, or settling. Comfortable, I’ve learned, is synonymous with secure. And to know that where we are is healthy, is safe—that’s more than I can ask for.

With you, I’m slowly redefining how I understand love. Continue reading

I Will Be The One To Hold You Together When Your World Is Falling Apart

I will be the arms that wrap around you, the lips that kiss your cheeks with tenderness. I will be the warmth that fills you, the strength that builds within your bones. I will be the breath you breathe—inhale, exhale together—that centers you, gives you peace.

I won’t be, and I can’t be the one who saves you, but I will be the love that brings you back to yourself.

Because you have always been and will always be strong enough to carry your own weight. Because you will be okay. Because you have slipped and forgotten your way, but you are not lost or broken beyond repair. Because this life is filled with moments that will challenge and change you, but no matter what happens I will be here.

This is what I promise: I promise that I will stand next to you when the doubts fill your mind, that I will smile for the both of us when your heart is heavy. I promise that I will speak words of truth and confidence to your tired soul. I promise that I will hold you and never waver, no matter the conflict this life brings.

When your life is spiraling down, when you’ve fallen victim to vices, when you’re afraid of what tomorrow brings and doubt whether you have the ability to conquer it, I will stand before you and simply show you you’re not alone.

I will listen to your cries, shoulder your tears, sit quietly or say what’s on my mind. I will hug you until you pull away; I will simply hold your hand as a reminder that someone cares, always.

When the world falls apart and you no longer recognize your reflection in the bathroom mirror, when you aren’t sure what to do, when you’re angry and bitter, I will kiss you softly until the disappointment melts on your tongue. I will press my lips against yours until that curve of your mouth turns towards a smile.

I will help to put you back together again.

Through thick or thin, high or low, darkness or light—I will fight for you, for us.

Does Distance Ever Get Easier?

I walk up to the hotel bedroom window, press my forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the Los Angeles skyline glimmers back at me, soft lights reflected from buildings mixed with the morning haze. Above, an airplane takes off across the sky and I imagine my boyfriend somewhere in a window seat, craning his neck just as I am to search for something recognizable—the roof of our hotel, the outdoor Jacuzzi where we sat side by side just hours ago, the hot water creating steam from our cold bodies as we talked about the future like we had all the time in the world.

The plane pushes higher into the sky and I feel the rumble of the engine in my chest as it rises. And then the heaviness as the sound fades and I’m left with the quiet of this room, the thick glass window a barrier between me and the rest of the world.

In a room across the way, I see an older man eating breakfast, scanning the trajectory of that same plane. I wonder if he has someone special on that flight. If he, too, is watching what feels like half his heart disappear into the clouds.
Continue reading

I Want To Write You All The Way Home

I just want to write poetry today. I just want to lose my mind in the words and not thing about anything else. Not think about the dishes piled in the sink, the trash that hasn’t been taken out, or the laundry in the basket in my closet with the mirror-doors—the ones where we laughed at our reflections, telling stories with our eyes. Continue reading

I Think Of You, And I Can’t Help But Wonder

I think of you,
and my mind traces back to places
where we’ve walked
hand and hand
as if the creases of our palms knew
one another,
as if the lines foretold our futures
before we knew how to kiss forever
onto one another’s mouths. Continue reading

I Want To Love You Impossibly

“Love is messy,” she says,
and I want to know what she means—
is it soft, like clay beneath your fingernails,
is it like syrup, sticky and sweet on your lips,
is it dirty clothes in the hamper, footprints
on both the linoleum, and your heart?
Is it all the ways we’ll fight and scream and fill
the house with our loud imperfection?

Is it how I willingly accept all this—
and you—without hesitation? Continue reading

Even When You’re Not Here, I Still Feel You With Me

I met some men the other night, friends of friends. One of them was patient with me, tender, even with his calloused hands. His thumb and pointer finger pressed softly against mine, guiding my hold an inch lower on the pool stick. “There,” he said, “Like this.”

I could feel the ridges of his fingertips, brittle and brown from the stained wood and ink he worked with. They reminded me of your hands—the ones that can tie knots, can fix leaks in bathroom sinks, can change oil and tires, build shelves, and hold my face gently between palms. Continue reading

An Airport Kind Of Love

I feel you
in the tread of wheels on pavement,
steady and certain,
in the inhale of breath before takeoff,
as my heart catches in my chest.

I feel you
in the city lights dancing miles below,
in the way we are connected—
earth and sky, leaving
and longing
and the space between
where we close our eyes
and feel one another’s heartbeats
through phone lines, seatbelts,
baggage with worn straps. Continue reading