The Spaces In Between.
I want to fold myself into you cell by cell by tiny cell. I want to feel every sinew of you shift and spread apart to make room for me. I want to slide into the spaces that exist inside you… even the ones you thought were already occupied. The spaces dark and deep. The spaces warm and wild. The spaces shaped like question marks. My lungs have stopped working. I’m so fucking tired. Breathe just a tiny bit deeper.
Loan me some of that coffee-drenched, three-in-the-morning, one-brutal-round-this-side-of-frustration oxygen you like to hoard. I want to feel your snarly bits soften. I want to look at the page, look at that milky smoke haze, look at those beautifully tattooed hands furiously moving, then still furiously moving, then still furiously moving, then still, from behind those lethally blue eyes of yours. What does the world look like from in there?
I won’t stay long. I’m just so fucking tired. Shut up. Don’t move. Turn the music up. I don’t fucking care what. Just turn it up and be still. Breathe deeper. Let me settle. Let me let go. Let me fold myself into you cell by cell by tiny cell. I won’t stay long. I’m just so fucking tired.
Easy, girl. Slow down. I’m just sitting here. You can’t come barging in like that and expect instant admission. Give me just a second to adjust to the fact that you’re even here. To the fact that you showed up in a swirl of Red Bull and vodka, guitar solos, black eyeliner and big blond hair, 28 degrees and tanned. Sweet voice. Sweet ass. So fucking confusing. How’d you even get here? Where the fuck did you come from? No, it’s good. It’s fine. Just move slower.
Let me look at you in the light. Give me a second. It’s okay. I think. You can slide right in here. Yes, here. Easy and slow though. Not too deep. Not just yet. We’ll do this inch by inch by tiny inch. Watch out for the jagged bits. Old injury. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Relax. Stay right where you are. Don’t move. That’s enough for now. Just breathe. Let me settle.
(Fight.) I won’t stay long. I’m just so fucking tired. Shut up. Never mind. (Flight.) I’m leaving.
You heard me say it’s good, right? It’s good. Relax. Breathe. This doesn’t need to happen at the speed of light. I’m not going anywhere. You smell like burnt caramel and ocean. I want you to stay.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I never should have come. I’m just so fucking tired.
Stay right where you are. Seriously. Don’t move. Just let me settle for one second. It’s good.
Cell by cell by tiny cell. Inch by inch by tiny inch. Breathe. Settle. Breathe. Repeat. We can do this.
Andrea Baker has a Master of Arts degree in Counseling Psychology and once knew everything there was to know about Byron and Bundy. She is a certified Yoga teacher and ever-evolving student in Vancouver’s beautiful Yoga community. She has divided her life equally between Canada’s east and west coast … never living far from the sea. The ocean has influenced her writing, her Yoga practice, and her approach to life. She distrusts capital letters, loves sticking eka pada koundinyasana, and wishes she was just a tiny bit taller. Connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or her blog.