Sand Mandalas

I’m curled into my new lady-friend on the couch. After two months of the exhaustive weekend shuffle between sleeplessness at her apartment and mine--a shuffle from which I still occasionally wake up unsure of where I am, disoriented and reaching for phantom light switches from the other apartment--amid this chaos girlfriend still seems premature. We exist in that space between intimacy and strangeness. I know the pitch of her voice when she’s trying hide her rising anxiety, but I only learned two weeks ago her legal first name. It still feels weird on my tongue. 

Friends

Nobody has ever said “Wow you are a steadfast and loyal friend whom I’ve overlooked romantically all these years. Let’s be together.” No one will ever say this. Ever.

Spring Journal Entry

You are my favorite “what-if?”

Spring Journal Entry

But you know I love you. I don’t say it often because it’s an impractical gift, an extraneous table lamp for a cluttered Madison apartment or a rootless flower in a water-less jar wilting in the sun.