Infinite Stardust

Every moment happens twice: inside and outside, and they are two different histories.

Fun things to say when someone tells you they’re going to go to the bathroom:

You wake in the night with your arm hanging over the side of your bed. It is still dark, and your bedroom is shrouded in deep shadow. Something unseen seizes your hand.

Last year was all peaches, and strawberries, and you. This year I’m trying to lose myself in the sweetness of mangoes, the tang of citrus. See I’ve spent this year learning about the meaning of flowers and wondering when I stopped being able to use my words. When everything turned into a string of metaphors that leads me back to your mouth. So maybe the butterflies are hatching, and we’re all so susceptible to the power of pollen that when allergy season starts, we’re all falling in love again. And maybe winter blues don’t feel lonely because they echo back your name, but the warm months do because it’s the time of the year I didn’t get to have you. So I’m out grocery shopping, and I’m forming poems about how I don’t know if your mouth tasted like strawberries or if strawberries taste like your mouth but either way, I can’t stomach them anymore. I’m weighing mangoes. I’m zesting oranges over my cuts. I’m planting 98¢ roses and hoping they’ll bloom where our love couldn’t.

Los átomos de mi cuerpo son los tuyos y vibran juntos para querernos.

We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.