- then fucking act like it
Apparently, cold is the absence of heat and dark is the absence of light, so if ever you’re feeling blue, you’re just purple with the absence of red, and if you’re feeling sad, remember there’s just the absence of happiness, and you will find your way home soon.
Imagine this: I’m standing outside your window, my hair slicked back, & I’m holding a boombox above my head or—at the very least—I am playing something through car speakers attached to a cell phone & the something is Rick Astley’s ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ & I’m doing the dance perfectly & the sun is just starting to set & it’s casting a pink light across the suburbs. Everything is beautiful & ridiculous. Everything is okay here. You step out of your front door & you don’t stop laughing & I don’t stop dancing.
Imagine this: I write a book of bad sonnets about you & get it published by someone who loves bad sonnets about love & I leave them in every book store in your city. You come across one & call me. We agree to meet up for tea, but only if we both wear stupid hats.
Imagine this: You’re in the airport leaving me & I’m running behind you after a sloppy goodbye in the car. I am running after you & dodging security guards like this is an action movie or a romantic comedy & when I reach you I give a speech that could move the Queen to tears or just make the whole room awkward. I tell you that I love you, that I couldn’t let you get on that plane without saying that if I had to be without you to be happy then I’d choose to spend the rest of my life being miserable right next to you, but those are not our only options. Because, now, let me tell you the because—here you are interrupting me because I’m making you late—because we are happy whenever we aren’t saying goodbye to each other & I want to spend my meaningless life loving you, so goddammit just let me. Let me. & then you let me.
Imagine this: We stop letting silent apologies eat at our throats. We make our mouths useful again. I write you more letters & we make it to our forties & our children are the only ones in their class whose parents are actually soulmates & we get to embarrass them in front of their friends. I’ll wear a spaghetti wig for Halloween & you can force the entire family to wear ugly Christmas sweaters for the last two weeks of December.
Imagine this: I buy the plane ticket. I buy it just like I told you I was going to & I sit by the river where we could have walked together & hope I see your drunken ghost from last year stumbling though the streets. I live on nothing but milkshakes & cigarettes for two whole weeks & I write. I go home & nothing changes between us. No one ever says anything.
Imagine this: I buy the plane ticket & you’re at the coffee shop I duck in to avoid the rain. You don’t even drink coffee, but you’re at the coffee shop & our eyes meet & then we know the truth. You loved me. You still do.