What Love Will Be Like


My feelings about being loved aren’t more significant than anyone else’s. I may concern my thoughts about it every hour of the day, but the girl sipping her latte behind doesn’t think twice about how I feel about love. The idea of being in love turns us into islands, despite the fact that love can’t live if it’s not shared.

But today, I don’t feel like sharing anything. I would like to stay a castaway. 

I imagine the moment love hits me, the ground and the sky will swirl into one. My body will involuntarily forget where to put my feet.

I will be planning the funeral of my debit account. 

I’ll smile when the wind hits my face, thinking no other reaction will be appropriate.

Whenever I feel my arms are too weak, I’ll do push-ups. Who cares if we’re in a restaurant? I’m struck by love. 

I’ll stop running to my destination. If the “don’t walk” sign is up, then I won’t walk. I’ll make sure to see the street I’m crossing before it passes me by. 

While I wait, I will block every finger off of a “don’t walk” sign except the pinky so I can Instagram myself making a pinky swear with a street pole. 

I won’t stand with my back up straight. I won’t have anything to prove. Whether my chest sticks out or I fashion a mini-hump, I’m still me. 

I will find myself enjoying the The Notebook. Cuz if falling in love won’t, then nothing else will. 

I won’t scramble around at night to find someone to see, something to do, someplace to be. I’ll realize that we are always in the midst of doing something and that the things we really want to do come to us if we are willing and patient. 

I stop wasting money on lip balm because I will be dropping in majorly on another things you can buy at a deli. *

I’ll enjoy reading the unfunny and contrived in my work. I will nurse the script back to health. 

I will finally the Midnight Cowboy “I’m walkin’ here!” on a cab. I will finally conjure the bravery for it. 

I’ll forgive myself for what I regret. 

I will hire a barbershop quartet to perform “You’re the Apple of My Eye” with me at Washington Square Park. I will allow myself to forget barbershop quartets are not sexy. 

I’ll take up the opportunity I felt too small to capture before.

I will permanently grow into that genetic belly I have been able to ward off all these years and not care, because I can finally eat cookies for breakfast. 

I’ll just be aware of what I’m blessed to have. Like my health. Before it suffocates under the mountains of Cinnabons I’ll inhale. 

*Flowers, Internet. Geez. 


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