wild blue yonder
there's a hole where your heart lies
The door unlocks with lazy precision, the key turning in place by a hand well-versed in its movements. The rug with motifs of black cats on it has long been replaced by a generic, easy-to-maintain piece of caustic polypropylene fibers. Aly downturns the knob and lets me inside. I, with a frozen heart, and red cheeks barely stumble unto the slate green-streaked floor. I pull my shoes out of my feet with caution and rest them against the perched plastic box. I cannot wait to see you come my way and embrace me looking down, tottering on your way. I’m in the foyer now. I will always be in the lobby, no matter how far I get. I climb the stairs, but it barely makes a difference. It’s as humid here as it is outside. I will feel like I can’t get any farther, inevitably. And although this may not be true, I feel it deep in my bones, the ache for the elevator to stop at your floor, and for the music to go off while we dwindle in the silence of each-other extrapolated soul. I shut the door behind me and I find you, solemnly trying to fix a nail in the kitchen wall. An accommodating smile plastered on your face. You seem pensive. We don’t talk much.
In the corner of Dal’s room, lies the memory of who I came to know as Lara. I say a quiet prayer and let the wind that flows through the ripped mesh take it away. The candles around Lara have turned into stubs of linen-scented soy wax. The tiger eyes and rose quartz have been prophetically cleansed by last night’s moon ritual. I don’t dare ask who takes care of the shrine. Dal darts my gaze, decides to grab their backpack and head out with Aly. And it’s at this time, I find Lara holding her book next to mine, cold chills running down my spine as I think of the dark water that swallowed her whole. Looking down over the edge of the road, where the cliff tumbled into air, I realized that I wanted to be in love with a woman.
We are the only people in this house, this crowded mess of cigarette smoke and pink shot glasses. I feel my heart swell unto my ribcage as I try to keep the perfect pose for when you come barging in, to prophesize about your admiration and to sweep me off my heels. I think about you for a long time before the bell rings and we both come out the doors on opposite ends of the apartment. Your body limp and you break into a shallow run to make up for lost time. There’s no one at the intercom.
It had been awfully long since the last time I heard a person’s heart. I think I melt when your arms drape over me, wistfully. Its sounds erratic, trying to catch up with your sudden burst of activity, but the capricious rhythm soothes me. You are alive and loved. To this, you take notice, and you break the embrace. I wish I could hear it for longer. We turn our backs to each-other and retreat to our havens. You linger for a bit on the edge of your door.
Dal and Aly drop their bags on the floor, and I knew we ran out of time. In that moment, I made up a holiday I didn’t know the name of and celebrated it here alone. I decided that long ago, a woman married her wife at the ancient theatre, and nobody could tell me I’m wrong. Soon after, I started moving crates of beer to welcome the party downstairs. All of my jokes turned into prayers as I looked up how to mix Prussian blue. Too grey, too blue, too green. Viridian, carmine, burnt sienna. My head spun as I inhaled all the shade. And there you were rubbing my back, having your hair caressed by someone else, asking me how it’s going. I picked up your camera from the table and fiddled around with it, but I was far too self-conscious to snap a picture of myself. I fear you are now spammed with corners of shelves, lamps and pillows, and indistinguishable faces. I will find that camera again, and I will strike the hottest pose you have ever seen. Or the cutest. Or the sweetest. Whatever I think you might like.
“You are doing great, it’s all part of the process” - you say, as I end up making sludge. Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, but to me it does. Should it, sugar? I’m more than blue and orange.