My friends are the loml (2)

inanotherlife i died already

inanotherlife i’m not riding my bike on the last friday of march through air that doesn’t know whether to bite me or kiss me because it's not quite cold anymore and it’s not quite warm yet

but inthislife, i’m riding towards a space i feel good in
inthislife my tattooartistturnedfriend tells me my skin is unusually warm and i believe her because
inthislife i’m a thief of light
i take from the sun without giving back,

inthislife i
peelgrapeswithmyteeth
sinkintoheat
dozebesidewater
and realize

this
is survival.
this is care
and love
and just enough

inthislife i smoke by the window, watch the buildings ignite and cool, from yellow to orange to hues of blue and my baristaturnedfriend drops chili in my lap,

inthislife we open a bottle of sweet kefir and accidentally drown a beetle trying to save it,

inthislife lcd sound system adds drums to his track and i can feel how many particles of me believe in the world again,
how much my boots and pants and bones and thoughts are humming like tuning forks
and i catch a glimpse of my life
and it’s theoneivealwayswanted.

it’s the people i never thought i’d be interesting enough to deserve within reach,
it’s café owners that bet everything on remodeling an old wine bar
and musicians with promise and terrible work ethic who will never answer an email but will talk you through being lost at 3am,
and kindkindmindblowinglykindpeople who actually try to keep me in their life as much as i do
and all of them have worlds with the lack of stability my parents warned me about
and all of them hold chaos to rival mine
and all of them
give me butterflies
as i take the long way home.

inthislife a stranger at the bus stop sees me beam and asks if i’m coming back from a good date and i think about the evening i just spent with my clientturnedfriend, debating how to have work-life balance while living our life’s work on a dusk-lit patio with cigarettes we never light that still warm us, and how i am left with the kind of understanding
you can taste
on your tongue

and what it tastes like is
peopleonvespakindoflove,
it’s recklesschildlikejoy
it’s windinteethexuberance,
it’s a kind of love
i can never get bored of.

so i smile and i answer the stranger that i just spent the evening with the love of my life

and he smiles as he hears it like he knows what i mean.

and isn’t that magical?

the collision of what i meant
and what he understood
as we wait for the 92 bus.