Remember the people we used to be?
Remember the ways we unhinged each other? The way our minds unravelled – disassembling the world as we knew it, stripping each other of defenses and forcing our armies to lay down their battered, tired arms? Remember the ways in which you melted me? The way your fierce gaze could shatter the defenses that I didn’t know I’d riled – the way your careful hands undressed me without ever touching my skin.
You were liberation and the whole world was a wildfire around you.
You were the dismissal bell on the last day of school before summer vacation. You were the first breath of salt air when your car rounds the bend towards the ocean. You were running so far and so fast and so furiously that you weren’t sure you’d ever find your way home. You were the kind of feeling the English language doesn’t have words for, yet.
You still are.
And nothing about our love was ever straightforward. Our love was an unpoliced riot. It was windows smashed and cars totaled through the barren, deserted ghost towns of our hearts. It was resurrecting something that had lost its pulse for so long that we’d forgotten there was any life in it to salvage. It was setting fire to everything that was dead inside of both of us and letting it burn down to ashes on the pavement while we kissed in the wreckage on the sidelines.
Our love was unruly and disordered. It was the anarchy we never thought to yearn for.
And so whatever became of those people that we used to be?
I think I missed their memorial services – the day we buried their bodies in the backyard and laid our collective wilderness to rest. I think I deliberately skipped out of the wake, telling myself if I don’t go then it doesn’t really matter, then I never have to miss you – or the person I became alongside you – at all.
I could go back to living inside of the world that has rules and regulations and consistencies. The world where your reeling mind and roaming hands didn’t knock the air straight from my system and leave me defenseless. The world where my heart was my own to hold onto, again. Where everything was smaller and safer and mine.
And yet there is a part of me you woke up that refuses to stay dead and buried in that backyard garden.
I think I’ll always want to get on a plane with you.
I think I’ll always want to get on the subway at 2am to come see you.
I think the wildest, freest part of me will always want to pack up my bags, leave in the middle of the night and run away to wherever it is you’re going next.
I think I’ll always want to do everything on earth with you.
So long as you’re alive and I’m alive too, my heart may never find a way to ever fully bury you.