This gravity is too much for me.
Perhaps I’ll just fly around in a hot air balloon,
never touching the dirt with my tiny feet again.
Perhaps I’ll just be a pilot or a flight attendant.
Would you like some juice or coffee?
Perhaps I’ll just buy a trampoline,
and constantly spring up into the skies.
Perhaps I’ll just live in space,
eating space ice cream.
Your words are weighing me down.
Like a photographer waiting to see what becomes of his Polaroid picture, we waited to see what would happen with us. Neither of us ever talked about “the relationship.” That just wasn’t what we did. We both knew how we felt individually, but it was simply too strange to talk about it out loud. For years people would ask if we were dating and I just never replied. Many times you started to tell me how you felt, but something stopped you. You would sigh and take my hand, and tell me that some day you would figure out the words that fully expressed the feeling. I guess it wasn’t that you were too afraid, as I was, but that you simply didn’t have the vocabulary to talk about love.
Every morning I take a shower and wash my hair with coconut shampoo. I put on my mango body lotion and pineapple chap stick. I wear my hawaiian flower earrings and my palm tree necklace. I turn on my computer, and a portrait of a sunrise in Kauai appears as my desktop. I eat banana pancakes and drink guava juice. I paint my nails hot pink and put on my bikini. Then I put on my tights, pants, sweaters, wool coat, scarf, and mittens and trudge through the snow to the subway.