You know when you know how much you love the little hairs on their arms, the way they would lie between your sheets naked and magnetic with one hand brushing the lines on your stomach. You’ll just know because you’ll catch yourself gazing at their eyelids closed, carefully meditating to the rhythm of their breathing, and you’ll want to trace their silhouette in the dark over and over again until you can memorize it when the sun seeps in through the windows. You’ll know from the butterflies that linger longer than they have with the others, you’ll know from the slowness in exchange of breaths as you kiss. You’ll know because it’ll feel natural and humble and clean. And it’ll make no sense but you won’t be afraid. You’ll know when you begin looking up tangible things to buy for them before holidays, not because money can buy love by any means or that because you feel the need to but because you simply want to. You’ll begin to memorize their favorite things, their usuals, their little do’s and dont’s and they’ll matter to you enough for you to care. You’ll be able to stare into their eyes for hours on end even with a pimple on your face that you’re grotesquely embarrassed about but for some reason, in the moment, it disappears. You’ll know when they’re the one you want to call when anything happens— light or heavy, and you’ll know when they can carry both types of weights. You’ll want to almost in a sick, corny way (that you never thought you had in you) cater to them, take care of them, hold them for 40 minutes straight without an ounce of selfishness or desire to let go. And you’ll be able to whisper certain phrases or tell forbidden stories without the fear of their judgment or them reprimanding, and without the concoction of feelings stirred from chemicals that trigger specific abilities. You’ll know because you’ll be able to do and feel all the things you would inebriated, sober. And it’ll feel wonderful. And it’ll probably make the lines on your forehead groove in all sorts of directions because you’ll be confused as to how anything could be so good. But it is. And you’ll think about it. And realize that you could fall in love, maybe, again, or that you already have.
“My mother tells me
that when I meet someone I like,
I have to ask them three questions: 1. what are you afraid of?
2. do you like dogs?
3. what do you do when it rains? of those three, she says the first one is the most important.
“They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.” I met you on a Sunday, right after church.
one look and my heart fell into
my stomach like a trap door. on our second date,
I asked you what you were afraid of.
“spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.” I asked you if you liked dogs.
“I have three.”
I asked you what you do when it rains.
“sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.” he smiled like he knew.
like his mom told him the same thing.
“how about you?” me?
I’m scared of everything.
of the hole in the o-zone layer,
of the lady next door who never
smiles at her dog,
and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking
it’s back trying to keep from us.
I love dogs so much, you have no idea.
I sleep when it rains.
I want to tell everyone I love them.
I want to find every stray animal and bring them home.
I want to wake up in your hair
and make you shitty coffee
and kiss your neck
and draw silly stick figures of us.
I never want to ask anyone else
these questions
ever again.”
