…and I will remember your small room / the feel of you / the light in the window / your records / your books / our morning coffee /our noons our nights / our bodies spilled together / sleeping / the tiny flowing currents / immediate and forever / your leg my leg / your arm my arm / your smile and the warmth / of you / who made me laugh / again.
From “Raw with Love” by Charles Bukowksi–Did I take it out of a larger, sadder context? Youbetchya. But man, it reminds me of so many things–tiny moments in tiny apartments. Countless instances of pleading to be put back together & promising that when this new crisis calms, I’ll be a different person. I cried a lot. I joked that you were stuck with me; you never thought it was funny.
When we met, I was a mess of a 19-year-old, getting piercings & tattoos & ideas & self-righteous; you were patient & overwhelmingly loyal. Then, you picked me up from work at 3 a.m. & drove me back to my dorm room–an act both humiliating & endearing. Now, you turn down the TV when I take out the trash at night & worry when I’m gone too long. Now, I pretend to rejoice in the few years younger I am–pointing out your first gray hairs & your inching toward 30.
Now, you have a full-time job & I have this thing I’m doing, and we have this new apartment–the idea of it already feeling like home. We have goals, a retirement fund, a five-year plan, a list of “home improvements” & a shower not blackened with mold. We joke that now, this year, at this exact moment, we are Real Persons. We are adults. We’ve made it.
Year Four is the Year We Maybe Start Thinking About Settling Down Sort Of. It is our seventh year of being together. It is the Year We Make Big Plans. It is incredibly exciting.
Please bring home a puppy.
I love you.