the ladies of summer will love
so long as the price is not
the ladies of summer
might love anybody;
they might even love you
as long as a summer
yet winter will come to them
Lets face it we’ve been making out to songs about break up and heart ache
but I’ve come to realize that romance should be less like a flower and more like an earthquake.
And I’m not saying I want to shake cities to the ground.
I’m not saying I want the rubble that remains to become a lost and found where we find
the kind of tolerance it takes to rebuild in the face of tragedy.
Because I’m tired of living in a world that says people only come together when faced with catastrophe.
I want you, to want me, to be the me you see when I’m free to be the me that got me next to you.
And as for romance? Well, I want that too.
I want to fall asleep next to you, 100 times a night,
so I can know you 100 times better before we hit the day light. And despite all of this,
I also want amnesia so I can relive each kiss with a perfect newness
that leaves me smashed in the arms of rapture. I want the sky to fracture under
the impossible weight of an apology because I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I want so much.
I’m sorry that I’m using “I’m sorry” as a crutch to lean on for so long
but if you sing me that song of sweet logic again then I promise to make the effort
to stand on my own.
Thomas Hoepker, Downtown Manhattan with World Trade Center towers, seen from “lover’s lane’ in New Jersey, New Jersey, 1983
Someone who’ll stare softly but straight at me, smiling reassuringly when I tell her how my 73 year old Medieval lit prof looked up from Chaucer, stared blankly over the class’s heads and said that even the happiest marriage will end in death.
Someone who understands the efficiency inherent in suicide.
Someone who knows that love can be the thickest slice of hell we’ll ever taste.
Someone who would dance with me by the sides of highways.