waning crush
dedicated to the only crush that never faded
i can’t remember the last time i had a crush.
a real one.
the kind that survives the first conversation. before time has a chance to stretch a person into a story or shrink them into a lesson.
once, crushes arrived easily. a smile. a phrase. the way someone laughed when they forgot they were being observed. it was usually something tiny and something inside me would lean.
what books do you read each year and somehow become new each time. what made you sob uncontrollably. what did you notice and carry with you long after everyone else moved on. there is an autistic quality to my crushes. they do not arrive with mystery. they arrive with curiosity.
i want to inspect them from every angle.
who are you pretending to be in life?
what are you learning this go around?
how does hope smelltastesoundlookfeel like?
can i have just twelve more hours of information?
now i mostly notice plants, which feels suspicious.
this spring has been bodacious. there are flowers that look like they belong in dr. seuss dreams, all curly q stems and impossible colors, like they accidentally grew in the wrong world and decided to stay. there are grasses so soft i want to press them against my face and arms just to understand that kind of softness. the crape myrtles are showing off again. purple and magenta blossoms doing all the talking while the trunks stay cool and unbothered in the oppressive heat.
the moon is flirting with me. for my birthday they got me the first full moon of the summer, a strawberry moon. a present of abundance and joy and love. the moon keeps calling me outside. every night i answer.
i wonder what happened to the part of me that lingered around people. the part that noticed the moment someone disappeared into themselves.
what memory arrived.
what ache surfaced.
what lived there.
maybe nothing happened.
maybe they are feeling the recession.
maybe they are being kidnapped off the streets in broad daylight by our facist government.
maybe they dissolved their human forms and scattered themselves among rivers and june evenings and strange flowers growing through sidewalks.
maybe they became moonlight.
maybe they became the exact shade of green that appears after three days of rain.
maybe they got tired of being people.
honestly, i understand.
i imagine that part of me sitting beside a river somewhere, toes in the water, watching leaves float past. not searching. not chasing. just paying attention.
