Art by Hanul Lee
The only man I know who could make love to a star
This is when you cried. As I lay there shivering, lips quivering, looking into your star-filled eyes. I wanted to crack open as much as you had, but I hadn’t realized how thick my walls were. I should have cried with you, but I would have been dishonest if I had, and I never want to lie to you.
This is when you said, “I love you”. As I lay there screaming from near-pain. Skin burning from what you’d done to me. Unable to think or say anything. My bones inverting. My muscles twisting. Lungs collapsing. And through all this, the only thing on my mind were the words from your lips as you held me. “I love you” like the white light at the end of a dead man’s tunnel – a foghorn in the midst of a sea storm; the temporary god of our transient galaxy.
I only realized now – 3 days later – that I hadn’t said “I love you too”. I was so caught up in our love storm – as I always am. Of course, I love you. Is that the right term? At that moment – any moment I’m with you – you were everything. You became God. You became creator. What do we call that? Blasphemy to the believer, chemistry to the atheist, passion to the romantic. I guess love will have to do for now.
And I do. I love you, astroheart. My lover boy. My sex god.
All I know is that you expand my universe. You show me stars in your blurring eyes. We lose the world together, then lose each other apart.
I told you how easily I forgot you, but I should have told you how easily I remember you too. On empty nights. Looking up curtains. Stargazing.
You’ve seeped into my dreams, my art, my anecdotes.
I may forget you now and then, but you’re embedded in me.