God I get so sick of living in a woman's body sometimes.
It makes me want to open a sports bar and feel nothing.
It makes me want to shoplift Lynx Africa and cause a price hike.
It makes me want to avenge the person who writes inspirational quotes on
the backs of sanitary pads.
It makes me want to… want. But
the planet’s burning and tomorrow’s never felt so unknowable, and yet —
here you are:
on my lock screen, in my front seat, my contact in an emergency. We come together, and it’s the most romantic thing — it makes the roofs of our lives
lift off like helium.
It makes me want to hire a steel drum band to perform for you on Valentine’s Day.
It makes me want to set up a gift registry.
It makes me want to write poems in books so we can last forever.
But mostly, I just want to call in sick and lie on your bedroom floor, eating ice cream from a cup with our phones on silent, laughing in all these small moments that change us.
Life is not easy, and they do tell you this, but it would be so intolerable without you.
You make me want to swing my feet into an ergonomic shoe and push the accelerator right in.
You make me want to keep trying.
I love living (mostly), and I love love.
But I’ll never know anything quite like this.