on having a crush
[Accumulation of yearnings, from november to january.]
A single moment can transform a relationship from an abstraction into something with growing teeth, a transcendence of previous limitations. It’s not about the words we exchanged or the things we did, although it emerged from them. It was a brilliance bigger than the sum of its parts —bigger than either of us— but creating a third thing both independent and inseparable from us. This new becoming was blurring at the edges of my vision, in the fabrics of my world. It became briefly perceivable, although I was the only one who saw.
There is a space where you exist that does not touch reality but that tilts my world slightly to the left or that is made brighter and this permeates everything I encounter with a sense of grief that sometimes goes unnoticed like a wave reaching the shore, yet it is so loud that the world faints momentarily in the background. The grief itself —evoked not from a loss but from the anticipation of it, the knowledge that all things must end— accumulates in my ribcage like water in a tank, at first discrete, and then unforgiving.
To put it simply, I want our bodies to keep tilting unconsciously toward each other until they become one. There are a million ways to see the world, and I choose your eyes, the way my tongue glides on your skin and lingers, our breathing merging in sleep on a shared pillow…