Lately all my mind is capable of is thinking of how you are all I want.
Except there is no definitive you: just this constant blur of ideologies and tendencies–my proverbial checklist (because people and their personality traits are to be treated like groceries)–the superficial wants and momentary obsessions.
I want the me, plus you. I want the kind of coupling that makes me feel as if I had spent my entirety with you and not apart from you. I want the two dogs and two cats: the five kids and the Disneyland trips that don’t really make sense because our kids are two or three or five and six and will never remember because I still haven’t.
I want my parents without my parents. I want to not want–to feel like you were belonging from the beginning.
You are in every one I meet: vibrating through everything I have ever done.
You are an idea that I was not put here alone–that I am not just me but there is another half, another part–you are the belief that these nights alone will not be the majority.
This is my worst fear, but my greatest resolution.
You don’t exist. You will never exist, because I was not born half of a whole. I was born an entirety. These nights alone were not indicative of loneliness, but just me–forgetting the parts of myself that I loved the most. The parts of me that made me my own whole; my own human.
I am in everyone I have ever met–and they are in me, too.