train your heart like a dog

I’m laying out in a lawn chair by the pool a of massive Air BnB in my old college town. I’ve sent a risky, drunk text message last night— the kind of text that makes me contemplate driving an hour down the highway and throwing my phone into a ravine. I’m too old for this. I wish I wasn’t.

It’s 6am and the sun is peeking through the trees. I forget how the squirrels here are big and fat with long, bushy tails. I used to sometimes imagine that they were spider monkeys leaping through the branches. The early morning air is already hot and dry, but comforting in the way it hugs your body in the quiet stillness before the rest of the world wakes up. It makes me feel less alone.

Call it John

or Jane

any name

It doesn’t change

The enormous feeling

This mass in my chest

That is growing with each passing day

And for which I am finding myself

exponentially

but also

delightfully

consumed

Give it a name

Maybe love