“I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.”
— Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth
The lines between you and me blur, but not in the way I want them to. Physically we are so separate. I touch you and you are rigid, and I am rigid in turn because that is all I know how to do, copy you. I want to be loose, unconstrained, melting into you. I want you to melt into me. The lines are blurry in terms of what we are, who I am to you. I don’t know who I am to you, and because I’m your copycat, I don’t know who I am to myself either.
With a few drinks in me, I can laugh without that feeling in my head that you might be wondering when you can leave or when I’ll shut up. I think you do enjoy your time with me; I think we’re on the same page. I think that’s what I like about us so much. I think I’m not worried about us; I just feel okay — calm, unpressured, like I can breathe. I don’t feel like that with people ever; I always feel like I am racing to a finish line which they are pulling far away from me. You and I are walking at the same pace, with no finish line in sight.
Boyfriend weather is inching toward our state; the weather in which it is nice to be held by you, in which I can wear a sweater and have its arms around my arms around your arms. I coined this term with Lilah, my first-ever roommate. Boyfriend weather is where you wear your orange sweater and listen to husky-voiced indie girls and hold someone’s hand tight and tell them you love them. Boyfriend weather calls for a forecast of walking down a college campus’s street, going to Trader Joe’s, getting iced coffee somewhere even though it is getting a little cold. Boyfriend weather calls for love, a feeling that I don’t feel as strong the rest of the year.
Even when we are separate physically, even when we do not blend or do dances like bees, I am happy to be with you. Usually when I am with people — when we are intimate — I hold some sort of angst within me against them. I can’t help but do this with everyone I’m with, life has made me jaded. But with you I am able to put aside this angst afterward and see your humanness and it makes me happy to be a human, too.
I think we are human together sometimes, we let each other sometimes see those weird imperfections that we are scared of. I don’t know if you’re scared of them like I am. But I am very restrained with people; I don’t often let people see me as a human. Oh God, what if they find out I’m not perfect? You know by now that I am far from perfect. Thanks for not running away, I didn’t think you would. I’m beginning to think maybe you don’t mind me as much as I mind myself.
I don’t mind you, at all. I like who you are despite my reservations around liking anyone again. Usually liking people is stupid, but my heart sings wildly and recklessly. I can’t not have my windows open these days. I’m in that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
“To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.”
