we are bent at stone, patterning it into a patron. we are whittling shrines from tin and timber. we will travel miles to hold communions with morsels of an illusion. we will forgo the wealth of presence to worship a renowned absence.,
in summary, we will believe in a fabled invisibility but keep our own tangible, internal divinities out of range from that unwavering line of sight we call faith.
we trust everything, even that which does not exist. everything except ourselves.
i lose more often than i win. far too often. i lose and i know it. sometimes, when i really sit down and think about it, it starts to get to me, but i try not to let it. i try.
it seems that no one else notices, and i am fine with that. at least i am fine with it sometimes. other times it bothers me to no end and i throw little tantrums. an adult shouldn’t throw little tantrums. an adult shouldn’t throw tantrums at all. but when you feel on the constant losing end of every situation, a tantrum seems perfectly fitting. it is usually when i let the most of my emotions get the best of me. i need to better control my emotional levels.
i do have hope, though.
i have hope that someday this sinking ship will turn itself around and i will start winning. winning isn’t the ultimate goal. happiness is. but i think that if i ever started tasting happiness, winning will be similar. it almost seems logical that it would. i have hope that i’ll be known as a gentle soul. one who is here to protect, to save, to support and to love.
so my hope will have to hold me gently until i can experience that happiness. and hold me tightly through these seasons of loss. and hold me loosely when i have solid friends, standing beside me, to help pass the time. this time will pass. i know it will because i have…
1. I want you as you are. Every scar, every pound, every last beauty mark you call defects. They are a part of you and therefore, a part of me.
2. I want you to stay an individual. If you want space, I’ll move stars and planets to give you what you need.
3. You matter to me; you mean something to everyone around you.
4. Hold my hand.
5. I want to build dreams with you. I want to talk ideas and aspirations, I want to draw the sky and fill it with the colours of your personality. We’ll paint the world around us together.
6. Kiss me like it’s our last.
7. I will be there for you until you don’t need me anymore, always.
how does love grow in my body? is it a seed implanted in my very core that blooms extensively? love is an emotion that, more than most others, is indeed rooted in our bodies. it is rooted in the way bodies exist with one another. love is not concrete; it is a notion. but how ironic is it that something that is so heavily based on touch, cannot be touched itself? how ironic is it that it can be felt, but not handled?
they say that love that reaches maturity will connect lovers neurologically. the importance of hormones that allow you to feel good such as serotonin and dopamine can be reduced as the relationship grows. does that mean, at its purest most elevated form, love can beat science?
lust, or let’s say strong desire of anything, takes place in the hypothalamus and sends signals that up the dopamine levels in the basal ganglia. all of which are involved in the mesolimbic pathway: the reward pathway. so lust drives us, and submission to lust quite literally makes us feel good.
testosterone is released in the brain when men and women see something they want. so that stimulates the pursuit of love, and the pursuit of sex. they say women produce more new testosterone when they are vying for something, and i can vouch for that. ever since wanting you, my body has never ceased to remind me of it. some might argue that despite its nature, when it comes to love, you have to follow your head, not your heart. i can rebuttal with the fact that it is my brain that is steering me towards loving you. you pull my heartstrings, but you also get the testosterone in my brain to make me behave a certain way—a way that screams ‘i want you’.
amygdala: threat detector; put to sleep by oxytocin and vasopressin. oxytocin and vasopressin are the two hormones that enable attachment. oxytocin and vasopressin are released after an orgasm, which translates accordingly: strong actions yield strong repercussions. you be oxy, i’ll be vaso. together, we’ll cement a bond that brings us closer than proximity does.
with time, our bodies and minds will synchronize. my vagus nerve will allow me to sense your pain when no one else can. a theory: i know when something’s wrong, i share it with you until i take it away. that is how we operate. research shows that we get mental benefits if sacrifice comes from wanting to alleviate our love’s pain. that’s what i look forward to the most, because it is such a personalized connection. it is something that only two long-term lovers can have. we begin to know each other’s behaviors and mannerisms as if they were our own. are we two lines meeting at one point, only to become a single line altogether?
touch. our primary language. is it true that love can only exist through touch? and if so, why? why do i have this remarkable want—need—to hold you? studies have shown that touch serves to provide so many health and mental benefits. even premature babies who are involved in touch therapy grow much more than those who receive regular medical treatment. human hands are far more dexterous than nonhuman ones. people can identify emotions through touch better than they can through facial and vocal expressions. humans are hardwired to enjoy physical touch, as it releases oxytocin as well. maybe touch not only creates love, but enhances existing love.
touch me, and be touched by me. these hands were made for your body and your hands were meant to be all over mine. touch my lips, and yours will make a sound. touch my limbs, and yours will flex. touch my body, tap my soul. i promise yours will feel it too.
I write down exactly what I need to read — what I’m dying, inside, to hear, see, feel — and claim it’s all for you. Every poem is a practice in faith — belief shared between heart and mind — that the same fabric can mend more than one wind-weary sail.
Know this is real. When he is asleep beside you, your head cradled to his half barrel chest, know that your insomnia is the stuff of romance novels written by physicists. It is 11pm and he snores but you can’t pull yourself away. It must be the electrostatic attraction of his skin with yours. This is science, this is real.
Know this is real. When he tucks your hair behind your ear, know that the way you puddle makes you soft like the locks between his fingers. Let him kiss you open. Break the hinges on your mouth and tell him he can swallow you, if he wants.
Know this is real. When the chemistry jokes stop being silly and start making sense, know that you are both organic. Understand that you are chains of carbon with functional groups that complement each other. You swap hydrogens like saliva and it is far too soon to mention any rings, but this is real.
Know this is real. When he combusts in front of you, like so many molecules of hydrochloric acid, know that you are sodium hydroxide. Usually you both end up covered in salt water.