As featured in print in Live FAST Issue 1
You cannot love like it is leisure, like it can come and go and give and take, whisper secrets to yourself as you fall asleep in the day. It does those things, but it does them of their own accord. It answers to no one – makes us beg for mercy with our heartstrings tied so tight they carry a tune.
It is not for us, the drawn together sort of space we share, to decide. We cannot withhold or bleed it out of our bodies, like long sighs in the afternoon, a stretch, tired and high. It lets us lift up our layers and have opinions on who we’ve been and make designs on who we ought to become. And we ask, is love supposed to be hard work or is it supposed to be simple and organic like growing grass? But growing grass is hard work. So is being a bird. You can love in a kaleidoscope, like fever dreams it keeps you pinned beneath the sheets – a cache of collected memories like spare change.
You love in bits and pieces, scenes and moments of fragmented frigid winds and summer heat so hot it melts the pretty paint from your fingernails. You can love from far away just as well as you can love up close, sometimes better, depending on who you ask and how long you were lovers. Love like an epidemic not a pastime.