A few months ago I went and told my boyfriend how I felt about life and love. I neatly lined up a set of dominos, each tile a beautiful idea. Then I kicked them over with my stubby little foot, stomped on them, lit them on fire, rearranged the ashes, and fell over and cried because none of it seemed to fall exactly where I wanted it to. Okay, I exaggerate.
It really started about a year ago. We were sitting at our favorite bar before it had been bought and burned by a New Yorker. It was night. I remember, because it was dark. And though there weren’t any candles, I remember it being candlelit. I suppose it was just that kind of mood. I was drunk, and so was he, or maybe neither of us were. I was eating a burger. Both my hands were sticky. With the cavalier honesty of a girl on her third beer, I said with conviction that one day I was going to get married and have kids but I wasn’t quite sure with who. I’m not sure there’s any literary magic I can do to describe the look on his face but I suppose you’ll understand anyways. It was kind of half laugh, half murder-suicde. Luckily he had a drink too.
I suppose that was the day I became a woman. Not the day I climbed atop the flag pole with bloody underwear and beat my chest, but the day I said quite frankly that I’d finally decided to give in to my heteronormative callings.
A year later I sat down on the couch and said with excitement a similar string of ideas. I painted my dystopia with symbolistic gems, lace, ironic white ruffles, a sound system, a sudden and jarring screech of a lady bird who discovered she had wings. His excitement was in punctuation, his bursts like exclamation marks.
At this moment we were both putting our feet down. I said this is what my future will hold and he said this is what my future will hold and we both grimaced because it seemed that we both knew our futures held one another.
So, you know, somethings gotta give. But gently, and fairly. With patience and kindness and the understanding that frankly neither of us know what we’re talking about anyways. Your future is never worth too much grief when you don’t really know what’s going to happen. So one day I said “I need to calm my tits” and he said “I need to trust” and whatever tension the wire held relaxed into a cool swing. If there’s any advice I could give it would be this. Sometimes you just need to let go and live. Hold your convictions closely but do not display them like your body is a race car. There is no finish line and you are not an advertisement. What will be will be and everything in-between is sweet.
I was swimming
My eyes were dark
’til you woke me
And told me that opening
is just the start