I Might Never Let Myself Fall for You.
Dear Lover (but not quite partner)
I feel guilty, because I’m defensive and flaky. I want to explain myself, but does another story really matter? It’s an excuse when I’d rather act, but here I go anyway.
I’ve been pulled out of my apartment by three policemen, with guns drawn. They were looking for my boyfriend. I woke up naked in Oakland in a friend’s apartment. Well, I thought he was my friend. The police took photos. I closed a bank account that a partner was only going to deposit into. I delivered my wedding ring to an attorney’s office as part of a divorce agreement.
A judge asked me to agree to a paternity test, for my son. People haven’t always heard me when I said “Please stop.” A man called me Love while his girlfriend was growing his baby in her uterus. I guess he didn’t think to tell me about that. I’m not saying that I’m completely innocent in all this, I’m just explaining my shit.
I’ve been lied to about viruses, so I might request a note from your doctor’s office. I’ve been lied to about warrants, so I might request a background check. I’ve been lied to about dreams, so I might never let myself fall for you.
It’s funny though, I surprise myself. I read books that remind me of you. I listen to music that’s so mushy, it’s embarrassing. I know all the ways to get to you. I catch myself daydreaming of cooking for you and listening to you talk, and not just because the vibration of your voice turns me on. Falling in love feels so good, like swimming in warm, salty water, naked.
I imagine that you’ve had enough of me. Sometimes it feels terrible, and sometimes it’s a relief. Is it better to get out before I’m in too deep? With all my baggage, am I the worst thing for you? Am I like poison?
Is it weird that I take off my clothes but won’t give you my address? Is my home more sacred than my body? Maybe my choices reflect my ownership. My body is mine. I can share it with you as I please. But, other stuff I share with my son and then Momzilla gets activated. My defensive posture is probably psychotic, but don’t expect me to get any less protective.
I have no expectations for you, or for us. I don’t need anything from this experience. Nothing is necessary.
I don’t want to stifle you, never limit your feeling of freedom. I want to support you as best as I can. Probably emotionally because I have feelings to spare. Physically too, but only in the physical-contact ways, not with stuff. I have plenty of touch to give, but my stuff is my son’s.
Maybe one day I’ll have enough stuff to share. But, would that make me insecure and wonder if you only want to hang around me for the stuff? Why don’t I feel like that about love and touch? Maybe because I think you can get kisses anywhere, and money is harder to come by? But it isn’t, really. Maybe I enjoy the free stuff better than the costly stuff? And, enjoyment is so much more fun when I get to give it away.
I’m kinda like the Cheshire Cat and Peter Pan: I like pulling the rug out from under anything, especially myself. I want to see if I’ll fly, although I’m not surprised when I fall on my ass. Do you think I’m crazy? It’s probably best that you realize my madness sooner rather than later.
If you want, I’ll give you love and kisses and pancakes and poems. But, I’ll probably fuck it all up. Do you want to laugh with me when I do?
Love, me (trying not to act so damn jaded)
Christy Kirsch lives in California, and doesn’t mind if you judge her. When she’s cranky, time in the garden with her strawberries, chocolate mint and poblano chilies usually sets her straight, so does a swim in the Pacific Ocean. She has some short-short stories at Magic Theatre.