I love you for the obvious—
The sensory assault, the overwhelming symphony
Of daily life, routine, patterns and heartbeats
Of color, so much color, and elbows that graze me
(There’s no way not to—we are so many)
Squeezing into the corner, packed and cramped
But not sealed, no
The air is too strong for that.
And I love you for who you made me,
The way you ripped into me,
Stuffed me full of something,
Scraps, moments, shouts,
The way you made me meet me.
Yet I love you for your scars—
And not scars, but open wounds,
Dripping smoke and bleeding clouds of gray
That linger over the sunset, pouring red and orange
In the dimming scent of day.
For all your aches,
The breaking hands that grab me,
The dancing motion of asking,
The shrill pain along the water
The hands that cannot grow to reach me.
For when he raised himself on his arms alone,
Dragging his body across the pavement
And my friend turned and shrieked,
I said “If you close your eyes,
He still won’t have legs.”
So what does that change?
I love you for all of this,
Because there is nowhere immune to suffering,
This is not endemic pain,
This is just more honesty.
Life is not shy,
It is not ashamed of existing,
It should not be.
When I am a two and a half days away,
Insulated and isolated,
Worrying over frivolity, trivialities,
This life will keep breathing.
These days will turn, and turn
But closing your eyes
Does not erase what you could see.