The Blinks so Far (For Gabriel)

 

The blinks so far 

Cosmically speaking, our lives are over in a few blinks of an eye, 184 to be exact. 

And I have already done a bit of blinking. 

Before us, the world was simultaneously chaotic and boring. 

Remember?

Spring smelled of cherry blossom, petrichor and dread. 

I spent a lot of time fiddling in my room cradling my phone, trying to make lemonade out of the fan-flug shitfest we suddenly found ourselves in, playing reluctant therapist to my wide-eyed girlfriends. 

There were long jogs, dodging South Philly trash. Panicked Acme runs. Zoom meetings. The days melted together.

Everyone was going through it. 

And then you arrived out of nowhere like a beam of iridescent light with your magic tricks and your polaroids and your joy, prismatic and infectious. I absorbed it. Happiness via osmosis.

Sweet face, warm body, and that voice. I ate you up. You were my favorite thing.

Oh oh, aren’t you lovely.

You were a dream born of a nightmare.

Not to hyperbolize, 

But it felt that way.

We got on so good, casually mapping out our lives, strolling past suburban bungalows, porches stretched wide, hugging Victorian-style houses we could not afford.

You and me wielding the registry gun in the Bed Bath and Beyond of life. Kids, garden, ride-on mowers. I want that. I want that. I want all of this. Beep. Beep. Beep. 

You invited me into your life so sweetly and I was elated to bring you in mine. Your idiosyncrasies were slowly revealed to me and I loved you more for them.

I remember laying in my bed, memorizing the contours of your precious surface area when the realization struck me hard and abruptly like an aneurism. 

Our time starts now.

And it’s already going too fast.

Blink.

Veggie dog inhaled in an IKEA parking lot. 

Blink. 

Warm pho reviving our souls, mindless cartoons, your arm wrapped around my calf.

Blink.

A kiss so intimate it felt like passing a secret back and forth. Oxytocin mind melt. 

Blink.

Lying on your cool bed, my lips against your temple, telepathically declaring I love you, I love you, I love you, I love----

Blink.

Sleepy morning in a souped up motel, dazed in a communication breakdown hangover, your body wrapped around mine confirming Yes, yes, yes, I am still yours. 

Too fast. 

You are soul food, medicine, fantasy lover, best case scenario. 

You are dreamboat, moral compass, best friend, big bet.

You are third-chair boy band material (kidding).

You are home, and for now---forever?

You are mine. 

If I go crazy. If I lose my mind. 

You are the rest of my blinks.

Driving, windows down, wind whipping at our faces, cutting through the humidity.

We are sleepy from a day baking in the sun.

You stick out your thumb and I grab it.   

Keep me in the light, John Mayer croons over your Subaru sound system. 

Looking at you. Your face. Our plan. This need. 

Can we stop blinking?

Can you keep me in the light?