Friday, February 4, 2011
My Yes Love Story
It is the day he leaves and I am a mess. I am feeling my heart, and I don't know what to do with it. It is this cracked open, wet and heavy thing. It is inside my chest, but also in my belly, in my brain, in my fingertips. My eyes are wet as I serve brunch, because of course the day he leaves is a Sunday and brunch waits for no man. What do I care for your coffee? Your bloody mary? Your eggs well done and bacon crispy? I feel like Frida Kahlo with my ribs open, my heart blue and red, lurid on my chest. No one seems to notice. That night the sky is dressed for dancing and my fresh new skin is in love with the air. I stand outside and look up for a long, long time.
Two days pass. I call my Mama and she tells me that a friend is dying. She asks me if I am in love. I don't know, I say, I don't know. All I want to eat is yogurt and soup. I am on the heartbreak yogurt and soup diet. I tell her that even though it's a broken-hearted feeling, I am glad to feel my heart again. It's about time someone turned the lights on, she says.
I call him. I tell him how I feel. He sees my bet and raises. Rather than hide my beating heart I expose it, I open it's windows, I let the air in. I find that all the songs are true. We agree to start from here and get to know each other. We see each other as endlessly amazing, and inside that endlessness he sees I stretch out my arms and it feels good, and I wonder, How far can I go? And the rest is now, and the rest is now, and the rest is now.