I knew it was dangerous to dip into a romance with you. Not because of how you might feel, the selfish bastard said, but because of how it makes me feel. It’s because the waters are so euphoric to wade in. I have always felt divided between restraint and indulgence with you. Words and affections welled in me that were wholly ignored or aborted because of how high my guard has become.
But I still thought of you everyday since we met. After I came back from Honduras I felt a little foolish to think that four days with someone was significant, so I tried to dismiss it and chalk it up to a tropical tryst in a drunken heathen’s den with likely the same endurance as the rum I was drinking. But I thought of you still. And then when I talked to you on the phone for the first time and heard your voice again I was teleported back to the Caribbean waters and tied to you again. It was a nice talk: cheerful, familiar, natural. When I hung up I started with more memories of you. When I talked to you on Skype I was shockingly reminded how pretty you are, beautiful in motion in a way that was impossible to conjecture from your photos and my dim memory.
Then Chicago. The fires had been lit.
Then Seattle. The world was in flames.
Even now I’m rolling in my bed with your impassioned ghost by my side. I’m tortured by sexual memories and the thought of someone rivaling them borders on absurdity. The intensity of it all was an intoxicating rush. You were a dreamy lover, absolutely appetizing and completely game. My pet.
I was looking into some old water today that had pooled up around our fish hold. Pieces of seaweed and dirt and scales were floating in it. While my dad was running the engines the water was hit with a current, first forward, then slowly sucking backwards- all of a sudden the water seemed alive. I thought of all the tiny organisms living in there that I couldn’t see. How there was a whole planet just in that little pool of water- that it was living its life outside of me- on a different scale, a different plane of existence. And were those little buggers content? I bet they are the same. I bet they are all miserably over-productive amoebas. 4.0 students with internships and nepotistic entrances into grad school types of amoebas.
I started hating the whole little pool and looking for a dry towel to holocaust the whole population when I had another thought.
We’re all the same. But we’re all disconnected. Atoms and ribs and samsara and ceiba trees. Humans and amoebas.
Then boom, my thesis hit me. Quit watching “I heart Huckabees” because you are turning into a total fucking freak.
Jumpin in Atitlan.