i’m not in love i just want to be touched

it’s an inescapable cycle we are bound to not by choice but by nature.

i don’t blame you.

today, looking as strangers do at each other in passing–a glance at a person you don’t know and probably won’t remember, a small temporary photograph, a made-up life-story forgotten by the time you reach the end of the block–a woman walking about an arm’s length from me, her dark blonde hair in her face, her thin frame bundled in a stylish beige pea-coat and a pink scarf, decided that it was too much for her, and as i raised my head to capture an image of her, as a polaroid camera that would, as soon as it has been developed, let the picture fly out of the back of my head and blow away in the opposite direction, she put up her palm in my direction, as if she was directing her body language at me, as if she were saying stop, stop right here, let’s not; let’s not pursue this, let’s not see each other in the supermarket, buying cheap packs of gum and a pint of ice cream we don’t need, let’s not start a conversation about how silly it is that the candy is next to the fitness magazines, let’s not find out that we’re walking in the same direction because we both live on fourteenth street, let’s not stop for coffee on the way home, let’s not discover that we both drink soy milk except in lattes because that’s just gross, let’s not put each other’s numbers in our phones and think, “would it be awkward to call in a few days? would she remember?”, let’s not think of the way we don’t look at each other when we talk, which is kind of cute, let’s not see each other getting off the subway the next friday, let’s not follow each other home, let’s not wake up in bed the next morning, coming into life, sleepily realizing on the soft light reflecting off the white sheets how ecstatic we are, let’s not go to brunch, let’s not go out the next day, let’s not wear red dresses and red lipstick and buy red roses and let’s not rip them off each other when we get home, let’s not think about each other when we’re together, let’s not smile for no reason, let’s not whisper and feel sweet breath on our ears, let’s not feel each other’s bones through our skin accidentally, let’s not sleep too close, let’s not leech each other’s warmth, let’s not shyly be afraid to look at or touch each other, then gently reach out, stroke the unwanted hair, the stubble, the odd birthmark, the fading tattoo, let’s not think this is forever, let’s not try to be forever, let’s not find out it’s not meant to be forever, let’s not have our first fight and then make love after, let’s not have our second fight and retreat in hurt to cookies and cat power, let’s not have our seventeenth fight and write bad letters to each other, let’s not start thinking that the girl who works at the cafe downstairs is kind of cute, let’s not ache in hurt for a week, two weeks, lets not forget each other’s numbers, let’s not forget the way we smell, the way we walk, the way that when we hold hands we bump into each other accidentally, let’s not forget how simple, how grand, let’s not start going to a different grocery store to buy a lesser brand of ice cream, let’s not start walking home a new way, let’s not remember the way we met, courted each other, so simple, so fast, so surreal, let’s not have each other’s names echo from the walls of our deep histories, as we fall down and down, let’s not. Just, let’s not.

i need a lover with soul power, and you ain’t got no soul power.

you: ignore me and play with my advances alternately. Confuse me enough so that I’m still interested and curious and chasing after you. Don’t show too much interest and won’t do everything for me. Hide things from me, but not too much that I think I have to compensate to get your attention. Smile at me for no reason. Tell me you care by doing things for me and not by saying it. Keep a picture of me in your wallet. Think I haven’t seen it. Tell me when I’m boring, tell me when I’m whining, tell me honestly my writing sucks, tell me when I’m adorable, but not too often. Don’t mind my quasi-dykiness, don’t top all the time. Laugh at me when I feel like an idiot, tackle me in fits of love. Hold it together most of the time, but sometimes breaks down in fits of weakness, to show me the human inside. Committed, but you don’t need to wear it on your sleeve. Not touchy-feely, except when we’re alone, and then can’t stop touching my hair, my hands, my knees, my hips. Will look me in the eyes in a way that almost makes me uncomfortable, forces me to stare back nervously; convince me with your gaze that you know; that I can’t get past you. Can’t leave me, even if you try. Attached to me in ways you don’t know; can’t understand. Let me look at old photographs, make me guess. Let me touch your face.

 

me: vulnerable. Awkward. Will tell you anything if you ask for it. Wants to touch you everywhere, wants to know you care. Wants to be wildly attracted to you, wants to be a secret, wants to be known but not to be talked about in a secretive way, but in a casual way, in a normal, always-was-that-way sort of way, as if I grew green like the grass or bare like the trees in winter and blooming in spring again and again in a cycle, such common knowledge. Pathetic. Takes things too seriously, worries too much, wants to know everything about you but won’t ask because she’s afraid of losing you. Likes warm cups of coffee on cold nights sitting alone with you or walking alone with you on streets surrounded by people, driving in cars with you down dark roads, lying with you in bed feeling your warmth, sitting with you on beaches at night hearing the waves watching the stars and the fireworks, sitting with you anywhere. Old-fashioned romantic, wants to hold open doors for you, give you flowers, cook you breakfast, but wonders if that is too dominant for you, wonders if you are doing the courting or am I or if it matters? Wants to touch you tentatively. Wants to be able to look you in the face, eventually, wants to be unashamed of her own body, her own self, but can’t help it.  New at this game. Shy with love, but open to suggestion. Subject to change.

 

on the street

it’s easier to fall in love with someone on the street because you know you’re never going to see her again from the start. only one memory of her exists in your mind, coming and going at the same time, a pinprick in your life, a vaccination against the bigger plagues and viruses swarming around . a little dot that dissipates into your skin, not under it; a little poison that helps you get on with your life.