Investing in you

Two years ago, I fell in love, hard. It was the kind of love that sneaks up on you, when you fall against your own will. I tried so hard to keep my emotions close but when I finally let myself fall, my lover had disappeared. In the course of 24 hours, all communication stopped and it was over without explanation.


 I was so broken, angry and sad. For months, I couldn't date. I couldn't write. I couldn't feel. 


Lately, writing has come so easily and I feel like I can pick up old emotions like river rocks and turn them over in my hand. Like a geologist, I can see their orgin, the forces that formed them and reflect on how time has changed them. Better still, I can write about them. It's a pretty special place to be.


This is something I should have written years ago, but I couldn't find the words. Now they've come.


To that love: I did all the things that we said we'd do together. I saw Niagara, I ate at all the restaurants, I watched the films. Though I thought of you, I didn't miss you; but you missed out on a lot of good things. I can't listen to Robyn without seeing us dancing at 4 am drunk off bottles and bottles of champagne; somehow, no matter how much you broke my heart, I'm still grateful for that memory.


You spilled
your romance
into my life
sticky and sweet,
I waded ankle deep
unable to avoid the fall
for you.

Now all the stars that twinkled above us,
all the bubbles that danced in my champagne,
the brush strokes that filled the galleries,
the actors that emoted in movies,
the bricks in your bedroom walls,
the threads in all your sheets,
raise their voices to mine.

We scream.

"How could you leave us behind?"

Our banshee cry goes unanswered,
like my questions
like my calls.

And I sit here thinking,
if I could buy
all the integrity in the world
I would.
So I could keep it
and invest it
and watch the interest grow.
I would be in charge.
I could hire and fire
advisers
who would help me
watch my investments in integrity grow.
And they could forecast
how continuous its supply would be
and it could be there to save me
on rainy days
when I could withdraw it
and I could use it to pay
the debt of empathy
that you owe to me.
 
Then I wouldn't have to pay
with tears
desires
time
and fears
or question
the validity and sanity
of my own emotion
passion
and intuition.

And I could use this integrity
to fill all the gaps in our conversations
to get the to the truth.
Not to make true the fairy tale you spun for me,
but to reveal your true identity:
thief of hearts
hoarder of affection
spinner of lies
and romantic deception.

And I could still love you,
and you could still love me.
But at least that integrity
would save me
from this ache
in my heart
in my rib
in my neck
and my spleen
because I would know...

which is all I required to make your debt to me clean.

Looking for...

I've been told I shouldn't think of you,
that nonchalance,
not looking,
not seeking,
searching for your grin,
desiring your hand in mine,
is the missing ingredient
to establishing our chemistry.

But missing you comes so naturally.

They tell me, "Don't look and you shall find,"
But I can't help but scan the streets
in hopes that we can meet
and I can bring you home.

See, we haven't met yet
but I can bet that,

On Sundays,
you like to sleep in.
And I'll wake up early
jog with the dog,
return to pry you
from last night's sweaty sheets
with sweet kisses and salty bacon
we'll laugh into pancakes
and your smile,
sweet like maple syrup,
will make my stomach flip
just like our first date.

We'll spend lazy afternoons
a tangle of legs and feet
brewing daydreams over magazines
about the places we'll go and grow together.
We'll talk till our mouths meet,
or enjoy the still silence
that made us feel home,
that first weekend we spent just us, alone.

And sometimes we'll argue,
I'll be moody
you, bossy.
Sometimes I'll blame you,
and you'll grow frustrated with me,
but we'll take off our gloves,
get our hands dirty,
and do the work.
Then I'll say the right thing, you'll soften,
You'll say the funny thing, I'll laugh,
and we'll love away the fears,
while kissing away the tears.

And I'll stress about which flowers to bring to your mom
and shaking your dad's hand with sweaty palms,
only to win him with political conversation,
her with washed dishes and polite consideration.

And when we hit the town,
we'll arrive with your hand on my lower back,
you'll make your friends laugh,
and I'll glitter,
girls will flirt with you
but I'll know better than to be bitter
while you work your side of the room
and I'll work mine.
We'll meet on the dance floor,
the only place we sweat more
than when we're tangled in our sheets,
the memory of which will make us
hit the streets
head home
to be alone.

And when I come to,
from thinking of you,
I can't help but look for you,
miss you,
and pray that you
are looking for me too.
So we can go home,
to build and to break,
and grow the love that will make
each half of us, whole.