Imperfect Love Stories: Leisure

Let’s wear jeans and walk around as if we belong to one another. I’ll meet you in the place where we have no plans. And on this corner of possibility we dare to write a story of all of the plans, including all of the fun because YOLO, and summer, and people are walking around outside again. And maybe we can dream of travel again, and we have a beer on the sidewalk because we can. We step into a store that has re-opened, and smell candles, and buy chocolate. And time isn’t factored in. I leave my phone behind, and so do you, and we walk shoulder to shoulder down the city streets going nowhere. It feels sweet, and reckless and we like it this way for now.

This heart whips around between the walls of wanting more and waiting patiently; I’ve been holding my breath since we said hello. And though I cannot visualize what more looks like, I know that when the backs of our hands touch as we sit beside one another, I want to flip mine over and lay it in yours. I don’t.

And we went to sleep without a word about what more, and I held my breath all night in hopes for one string of moments where this connection had permission to sustain presence and intention— like with a long gaze where we don’t look away, or where our hands lace together, or where we tilt forward and our foreheads meet and our breathing slows.

It’s not about sex, and it’s not about having you as mine in some way neither of us can bother to define, rather, I want an agreement. One where our souls decide together to go deeper. To penetrate the thin barrier still hanging heavy between us called “safe.” I want the opposite of safe which isn’t dangerous, but courageous, willing, extreme vulnerability— where we edge beyond side-to-side, and sit face-to-face, and feel the thick tension between us. Where we meet the moment with a full surrender, and allow all that wants to unfold between us to take up all of the space it likes, and we don’t try to contain it nicely.

I am curious about this territory, and listen into the silence for the unsung tune. I want to hear it, but our mouths stay shut and the back of your hand stays resting against the back of mine. Are you willing? Do you dare to meet me at the epicenter of this connection? At the hottest point, even if it burns? Or will we continue to dance around it, playing with fire, circling around it under the guise of keeping cool? I am over cool. I want to look straight into the flame of your eyes and discover what burns between us. Will you meet me there? What if we just followed the pulses of our desires to the end of the line? To the edge of the impulse. I am willing to discover that our lines don’t lead to the same place, but I am tangled to know where they cross! And to know what chords these heart strings play when played together. Can we go there sometime? I am flipping over my palm, will you catch it in yours?