There is a certain permission we give ourselves to feel however we want to feel because if we don't give ourselves the permission, we'll kill ourselves eventually with all the things we feel buried deep inside, so deep that even we can't feel it for years and years.
You tell me that if you would have met me a few years earlier than when we met, you would not have been able to handle the relationship, it would have been too much, that the intensity could not be matched accordingly when you were 20 but when you were 23 you were so happy to simply be seen by someone that was like you. Peas in a pod, pigs in a sty/blanket.
What does this mean, when I walk down the sidewalk on Christmas Eve and it is snowing and I am alone in this big city. 7-11 is open on the corner, that is all. I am stumbling. I am sitting on my front porch and watching you stumble. When I stand outside of my building, I understand dancing more, why people do it, why people go anywhere at all. I understand why and how you danced with me all those years ago in a shitty club in our hometown small city and I told you danced like a fag and I mean it in the most loving way possible, you are the most beautiful dancer.
Do you remember in that same club to the '80's music we wept and held each other twice. Once before I left for another state for another life and once when I came back after 2 months for a visit because I had fallen in love with a woman that lived 18 blocks away from you. We were standing there watching the dancers and crying, crying, don't go you said to me why did you ever have to go and all I could do is rub the inside of your hand that had been bleeding earlier because, you said, you got into a fight with the guys at the shop and started throwing shrapnel like metal bits at each other off the floor from the machines and this time, this time, what was being thrown at you hit and stuck, inside of the soft perfect palm of your hand. You wince when I rub and I stop. I'm always hurting you and I don't even know it.
I told you once a long time ago that you broke my heart and you didn't understand and I didn't understand why you didn't understand, its really easy, I loved you and you didn't love me and it broke my heart. But, you said, I never had your heart to begin with. I never asked for it. I don't want it. I'm sorry, you said, I'm sorry. But this is ridiculous.
And you are right. It was ridiculous. I was young and in love and not willing to admit it.
It is 4AM and I am dancing by myself in my living room. I had no idea that this is where I would end up at 30 years old. (Almost 30, you remind me, almost 30, you are not 30 yet Dina. Because, when I turn 30, you are only 40 days behind me, 30 here we come, summer babies.) I am dancing by myself and I am remembering your chest and shoulders and how I could probably still hide behind your body if I needed to to avoid people as I did at that club downtown so long ago. You are the perfect human shield.
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