It’s lovely, the space you occupy.
Have I told you this?
Hard form and soft form, and even softer form, changing, sometimes jiggling with your movements.
Atoms choosing or not choosing to be a part of you.
They hug tight, or abandon you for hairbrushes, swimming pools, shag carpets, library books. A rainbow of dead skin cells. You do not believe me that I see them as a rainbow.
You think me insincere. Or a dreamer. I tell you that you are lovely, part of a sublime tapestry. No! Nothing so organized; a MESS of space and time and cells and atoms and blood and ancestors, all concentrating into this one point where you are. Politely, your eyes glaze over. You are so alive, and so busy, and so lovely, and will leave more abstract thoughts to me, since I have nothing better to do.
And I hate to hammer a point, but sometimes, I feel so full, so full of the things I see, that you resist, that I wish I could slot my brain into yours, tear my eyes out, offer them to you for your benefit.
(No, I don’t mean that as a threat. You misunderstand me. I am only trying to tell you…. I am not being melodramatic.)
And so there we are. I know, but I also know I will forget. A bus will splash me when I’m already soaked and cold, you will shout at me for something I have forgotten. One really bad day will freeze up whatever part of my grey matter sees everything, and I won’t remember.
I will forget that you sat there, disregarding the photons that lit you up, the chemicals that filled your lungs, the factory of organs that kept you going, minute by minute.
I will forget that all manner of wonders collected in this spot, none of them aware that they did so just so I could watch you type, and listen to you hum. Off key.