If you

17 09 2015

If you lose 20 pounds. If you stop picking at those mosquito bites. If you cut out fried foods. If you buy the expensive shampoo. If you stop eating carbs. If you remember to moisturize. If you shave your legs. If you get a nose job. If you get your tits fixed. If you wax. If you get your jaw shrunk. If you get your skin tightened. If you let me put it in your ass. If you work out five days a week. If you don’t talk too much. If you sleep eight hours a night. If you get really fucking good at blow jobs. If you drink lots of water. If you get your teeth cleaned. If you start doing squats. If you grew two inches taller. If you read all the books that I find important and talk to me about them, but not too much, just enough for me to feel like I’m teaching you something. If you have your own interests, and are genuinely invested in them, but don’t let them take up your time when I want you around. If you give me space, but also don’t fade into the background, come on, have some confidence, find that balance of being a presence in my life without taking over my life. If you are kind to me, but not too kind because I am not ready to commit, and don’t ask me what I mean by commitment because I am using it as a catch-all term for things you do that make me feel threatened or uncomfortable or pressured so the definition will change depending on your actions and your actions alone.

Then

Baby

Then

I will love you.

Then

I will finally look into your eyes like looking into the vast mysteries of space and want to know, thirst to know, need to know you, need to touch and taste you need to hear your laughter and your thoughts on love and true connection, need those stories about your first moment of conscious memory, or those nights you spent abandoned listening to them scream in the next room wondering at the new weight of despair on an 8 year old mind comprehending the ugliness of existence and wishing for an end, or the first time you read the Perks of Being a Wallflower and felt like you could be infinite if you just let yourself be infinite so obviously the fault lay with you and your inability to let go, and how you’ve been brokenhearted over that flaw all your life because it meant that you would never fly in that way, that infinite way.

Then

I will see the miraculous beauty the alignment of chance and passion that points like an arrow from past generations of men and women who had something of you, some mannerism or gesture written in their genome passed down to you (the way you brush your hair back,  the way strong emotions always hit you like an internal sneeze with your eyes watering involuntarily), but those generations they were yet pale impressions of the masterpiece that is you.

Then

I will feel that the word “masterpiece” is both an apt and flawed word for describing you, because though I will feel for you that curious joy I sometimes feel for beautiful things that seem to be made just for me (the fascination of your ulna, the brevity of your upper lip) the word is troubled and flawed, oh, so flawed, because I will see that you are no static masterpiece, no mere work of art. You are dynamic, rushing as the waves of the sea and the wind of the air. I will watch the light hit you in a different way in the afternoon, and realize you smell different in the evening as compared to the day, but even these words, these ludicrous amalgamations of letters could never approach how vast and wholly singular you are – so singular that I begin to sonder at the idea that every other person might be similarly brimful with difference and thought as you or me, and this is when I will get this awestruck realization, this feeling of exaltation, knowing what it means that such a you exists in the circle of my arms in this lonely, broken world.

Then

My heart will ring out like a golden bell struck hard, and you will be the one who does the striking.

but only if you lose 20 pounds.


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