i usually don’t give explanations.

I don’t believe I have to do anything I don’t want to do. Yes, I’m one of those people. I quit things I don’t like (which can be disruptive and foolish). I need to understand the purpose before I dive right in. I care about my feelings first (care is probably not the best word as I’ve always neglected my own healing due to discomfort) and I may seem selfish or insensitive, but I am neither. I am always thinking about you. I am always aware of the danger, the weapons so beautifully hidden in my answers to your questions. My facial expressions, body language, and inability to sugar coat shit is deceiving. Trust me. My disappearing acts and silence are for you. I do not have enough room to panic. I’ve forgotten how to kneel. I am the runaway. I’ve mixed all of my letters, and colors too, so very carefully that I’ll need to start from the beginning to understand just how I’ve hidden myself.

And honestly, I’m not sure I’m willing to do that.

I am not interested in pushing through everything. I am not interested in making myself over. Am I sure? No. Absolutely not. I am not as familiar with my scars as I should be. I know they are there. I know how to cover them, but I don’t know all of the stories. Yes, sometimes they become poems, but if I had to separate the two, I wouldn’t know which started where and how to sleep without them. This is problematic. Still, I am not interested in solving every problem. I don’t want to feel everything.

Because I am always feeling you. Feeling of, feeling through, feeling around you. I am always wondering what you are made of, how you move, breathe, speak so differently than me. I am always wondering how to love you without changing. You, my love, are the one who drives me into silence. You are the one who gives me the clay to build the wall. To be without you and to be wanted is all I think of. I want to always be wanted. I want to always be left alone. Even to me this sounds impossible and I am not interested in believing in shit that is impossible.

I am interested in drinking enough water everyday. And moving this body. Dancing. Stretching these limbs in every direction. And touching. I want to know more about the power of touching and what will come through my hands if I study what is all beneath the skin. And dirt. I am interested in burial and planting and eating what comes from the ground. And sitting still while doing everything. And minimalism. And composing. Believe it or not, I am interested in loving. The action, not the emotion. What pleasure looks like, tastes like. What loving does in the middle of the night and in the chill of the morning. How it travels, how many faces it has, and how many stories I can write from it. No titles. No list of rules. No falling.

I am always thinking about you and I suppose this explanation could also be a warning.