Flashback: Thinking about the way it felt to be next to you last December. I remember cupping my mouth onto your shoulder and neck in an “O” shape and blowing hard, so that my hot breath was pushed through the cotton of your cardigan and oozed across your skin like warm honey.
But like a young shaman with no apprenticeship, i do not understand my power. I have not learned to harness passion, resist impulse, embrace grief.What technology is inside us?
What undiscovered history emerges?
I tried to speak, but the words got stuck, so we rolled down the window to listen to the seagulls.
There are chapters full of heartache, when I cursed god and grew my beard. I was young, then.
Flashback: I lay on this too-short mattress, gazing up at the childlike stars, and I wish you were next to me.
But there are no roads without struggle, without uncertainty. But sometimes you arrive somewhere. Many chapters in between, many bus rides and ticket stubs, many craft beers and scribbles and smoke rings, many kind words and good friends, have brought me to you.
Flashback: I am in a basement apartment, caring for senile cats, marvelling at how life twists, burning incense for the past, for all the days that led up to the new year, when we hiked to the halfway tree.
Fast-forward: I will find you no matter you are in the city right now, I will hunt you down and kiss you, I will not let you forget how much you mean to me.