I am planning on breaking my own heart, as a game, as an exercise. So that I do not forget how to feel.
Tomorrow is my birthday, and with each passing year, there is a risk that I could find it easy to sell off my emotions. After all, I had viewed them as a burden for so long. But finding someone to feel something for, is not easy. Men aren’t found in the bottom of cereal boxes, and they’re not found warming up the car for you. A woman has to actually search. Really search.
Even when I know that our time together would be brief, and it‘s not important what they look like, or if they‘re homeless, or if they’ve been dead for a while, it‘s still really complicated. It shouldn’t be, but it is. And that’s unfair, because I am not reaching for a senator’s belt, or a CEO’s whiskey glass, or even a high school principal’s pen. I don’t want a mournful piece on the harpsichord, or the Grand Canyon blanketed in snow, or a vision of the Virgin Mary in blue. I don’t want to be one part of two winding snakes, a hope for a clever Hopi shaman, an average wife who buys her linen at Kohl’s. All I want is love in interlude, excitement in the pause, a brief kiss before I move on to something, anything, everything.
It is not a crime to want a rainbow after the cold showers, and before the unbearable heat. Sometimes things have to run together and stick, like marina sauce on rice noodles. Sometimes, I am just an adolescent girl in a woman’s body. Except, I don’t actually have a woman’s body at all. I am like that rice noodle, but with better flavor. Except, that’s not true, either. I once licked myself, because I have every right to, and it was rather bitter.
A man somewhere just read my thoughts, and he said, “I could have guessed that.”
The point is, we all have needs, and I am not the exception. Is it too much to ask, is it really, that a man just appear out of nowhere to hold me?