The Things I Don’t Talk About


I don’t talk about the fact that you made me believe in something that I have been striving to find ever since we lost it. That feeling of looking up into your eyes and knowing within minutes that the two of us were going to be something beautiful.

I don’t talk about the fact that yesterday I waited for a message to come through from a man that clearly is not interested in being a part of my life anymore. Waited, because despite circumstance he made me feel for a second that maybe I had found that feeling again.

I don’t talk about the fact that I wonder about the you that will change my yesterdays into stories and my tomorrows into dreams.

I don’t talk about the fact that I am making space for you even though I do not yet know if you are bearded or blond.

I do not know if you have traveled or simply dreamt of foreign lands. I do not know if you are well versed in Bukowski. I do not know if you drink pour over coffees or draft beer from poorly lit bars. I do not know if you are a man of the mountains. I do not know the way you wake up.

I know that you have passions that were not handed to you. I know that you tell me about the caterpillar you found in the kitchen and that we dance in hollow spaces when words fail us. I know that we read out loud together on trains and overnight ferries and that we count the freckles on each other’s bodies when sleep does not come. I know that your mind runs faster than your feet and that I will tirelessly chase it down impossibly windy roads. I know that together we are home and separate we are calm.

I’m not afraid to wait for you. I’m not desperate for your arrival, you will not complete me. Do not confuse my desires for needs. Today you exist in your world and I in mine, how wonderful to think that one day they will meet.