She says,
I like the way you kiss me in the morning, and it’s been four years, but my heart still swells in my chest and her face flashes in my mind then, now, and someday.
She says,
Don’t go, stay, build a home and a house and a home with me.
I think maybe, but
I also walk around with explosions in my mind and I can’t help but wonder if quieting the storms, saying no to the boats and planes and trains would be the most dishonest thing I have ever done.
Oceans and countries and addresses that you can get to with a map,
Organize, plan, set in order. Make an order.
What if though, I want her, and
I want to run around the house and pull the paintings from the wall until they crash on the ground, and pull out the socks from their drawers and sprinkle them around the lobby like they belonged there?
I organized for maybe a decade. Probably two if we are honest,
Now I feel I have earned the disorder and, when I say,
Let’s get on a plane and not come back until we have mastered a new language and imagined the whole trajectory of another lifetime, and if we do that we can live forever--
Isn't that calm and don't you have me still?
I said, what does it mean that my mind feels most calm when it's all scattered about and we have to trace the distance between socks, and see how they have fallen on the ground, and can't you see beauty in this too?