7-20

The familiarity is the most dangerous.

When people think of love, I wonder what they envision. Butterflies, passion? Stepping into the mind of another?

For me, it was comfort. To be calm and breathe. It’s what I always seem to be seeking--in life, in love. A settling in the stomach, a slowing of the blood. I am always on-edge when I am not alone.

Your heart beats so fast, a lover told me once, pressing his ear against my chest as I sat on a split-rail fence.

Nervousness has become the largest portion of who I am. I hardly notice anymore. On a beach, sun setting, I took the proffered joint and felt my internal circuitry slow. I wondered if I might be dying, to feel so calm.

When I was younger, love was excitement, adventure. Someone who moved me.

Now I wish for someone who lets me be still. Stability. Support. A touchstone for my anxious fingers.

You were always moving away from my hands, but still, they know you. They recognize your shape and texture, and they reach out. For a moment, I forget. Familiarity settles over me and I forget you are not mine (were you ever?) and I forget to be worried and tense.

It’s dangerous, the way my breathing slows and my body relaxes.

I wonder if I am dying.