No one told me that love
is not an equation, nor linear
our hearts are like plotting points
the x-y axis
Positive three for the kiss, negative four (a bit too forward)
we dance and prance around the grid,
sometimes we forget that home is zero, zero.
I would be your desperate ballerina
your green light on the dock
a manic pixie dream
in slow motion, the blast is beautiful
I lost myself in a bar parking lot,
staring at stars and speaking the gibberish of broken tongues.
I ached in the inches between two leather chairs.
In the dorm room,
I cried unblinking in ecstatic rage.
Under a ceiling of acoustic tile,
I looked up, away
from your turning head of chestnut hair.
My heart has traveled.
Chaotic routes across the map,
from a southwestern corner to a cold north lake
into shafts of gilded light through branches,
through green leaves and a tiny castle,
in post-tripping waves of nostalgia.
I have been years of love, compacted
to the third-floor space of a week.
I have been an instant of love that never died.
I have been the immortal beloved,
I have been the beloved heathen, released
returned to the wild to prevent further damage.
I have been abandoned by the wooden cross,
I have been sustained by the weight of gold.
My love flew one-way across the ocean.
My love was a wager,
traded for self-satisfaction and a case of beer.
My love, I drank the cheap red wine in your wood-paneled room
and lit a bonfire upon friendship mistaken for something else.
I could do most anything to you
I turned up the thermostat,
I was always so warm and ready
for the hands of these men to shape me
because I was frightened of mirrors.
Italicized lines from ‘Somewhere a Clock is Ticking’ by Snow Patrol
Photo Credit: Compfight stock photos, Creative Commons use