To You (whose is really me),
When I called, you didn’t respond. I asked questions, there was no answer. A deafening silence spreading from the top of my spine through my arms and legs down to my fingers and into my toes. Something was falling and I was bracing myself, as if an anvil or a piano were about to drop onto my head and squish me. I was underwater, drowning. I was pumping to the surface, fighting. I was waiting, waiting to catch up and we were separate entities running at different speeds, you a breath ahead, air streaming in the space between, floating with no destination, half blind and over stimulated.
Did I keep you in a secret that I only recently recognize as truth? Or am I now able to see the person under these words and skin and worries. I was cloaked by worry, you, buried underneath. I, unable to handle that limitlessness that sweeps in when you smile or the sun sets pink orange purple and blue all at once, or someone looks into your eyes and you feel your stomach begin to dance.
Something has changed. And it might be too many things all at once to pin down. You seem smaller and bigger at the same time. Parts of you peeled away–grew stale, faded, as if erased by the pencil you’re using to draw out each day of your life. Grey lines and caps of letters vaguely remain on the paper like scars or beauty marks and it reminds me that I can’t run away from myself, you are constantly bringing my body back, drawing me back to reality. But you. You have become a body–blood and organs contained by flesh with less between the two than ever before. Your brain is strictly in your head, serenely leaning against your skull, waiting. It stopped slipping down your spine, into your skin. It would flow with all that blood and passion into your heart, subjectivity prodding you along. When did it all happen? Was it the winter? Did I leave you out in the cold with snow piling on your eyelashes and in your hair? Or on my bed, tucked and ruffled in the sheet and cotton blanket I laid out when summer started heating the walls that surround it?
Then it fell. You let the ball drop, said all the words I wanted to say, let the conversation play out exactly as I had concocted it in my head. I woke up the next morning surprised to be in my own body, to feel the same skin and fingernails and hair I went to bed with the night before. I was still breathing. I hadn’t become something else, but settled into a new shape, a new perspective.
We breathe. Self-actualized. Objectively aware. There is separation and we are unified. You think your thoughts. You feel your feelings and you are like water. Be like water, you think. It can flow and you float. It trickles in drops and you wait. Be like water.