It was just another regular Saturday on Twitter. The difference was this one conversation I found myself fall into with a gentleman named @sindiantadka. I don’t know what it was, but there was something. Something like falling. Something like… love.
Imagine if you will, lament, longing, and something like rapture between lover and beloved. Imagine that now, in tweets.
Love is a big word with many other little words pushing for space inside it. We often mistake this one word for thousands of other words. We often mistake so many world-stand-still incidents, momentary lapses of reason, and flutterings in the belly for this word. And I am now thinking, “so what?” Maybe it all is love. Maybe it is everything, nothing, something in between or beyond. How does it matter? It’s a word, and for now, it works. When we say it, it feels right. Even if it doesn’t last, it feels right, right now. And that is what matters, after all, right? Right now, the moment, the present.
Besides, when did love ever say, “I’m here to stay”?
Making love stay is something that the best of us have struggled with, and most often with little success. Let us not trouble ourselves with “love and change and things we can’t untie”, let us instead speak of what it is to fall in love.
After a brief, intense conversation with this man, we thought to embark on this mini-project. The title is derived from something he said to me; you can read it below. We thought of a collaborative blog post idea on what ‘twenty opposite things’ could mean. Those conundrums, inner conflicts, and dilemmas that take root and exist within us eternally, overwhelming us all. He wrote his: http://sindiantadka.wordpress.com/2011/07/23/twenty-opposites/, and I wrote mine.
Our pieces are separate, yet they are one. They say different things, and some of the same things. They are about him, as they are about me, and about whoever has felt any of this at any point in time. They are me, they are him, and I have a feeling they are you.
These are ours. Now, I want to read yours. Twenty one and counting.
Surrounded by nothing, I miss you.
Surrounded by you, I miss nothing.
You are the most enticing thing I know. Every day is a surprise, every meeting a revelation.
The familiarity of you bewilders me. Who are you? And why does it feel I have loved you all my life?
Grow into me like an old sweater; like a chipped mug you haven’t the heart to throw away; like your bespoken side of the bed.
Fall in love with me every day anew. Today, for the hundredth time. May I never miss the thrill of being near you.
Marry me. You are the kind of woman I’d want to spend the rest of my life with, within 5 minutes of meeting you.
I hope we never get married. I hope we never stop flirting or trying to win each other over, even years later.
When it is morning there, it is night here. We are on opposite ends of the earth.
We are never separate; never apart. Night and morning are one, as are we.
I love you. I hate you.
Hate is the same as love, depending on which side of the street you’re on.
“Affection,”, you say, ” only show me affection and you will have anything you ask of me.”
“Take me. I want it downright dirty. And rough. Now.”
“Keep away. I need the distance. You’re too far away for this to be real.”
Come closer. I can’t have you close enough.
I write. For you.
“Will you have me? Or will you keep me?”
I will love you. I care nothing for possessions.
Twitter DMs. Skype video calls. Facetime. Whatsapp. We have a relationship powered by technology.
Write me a letter. A real one. What is love without at least one letter to cherish for ever?
God is a lover.
But I am your lover, and I am your slave.
“But I like men.”
But I don’t. What exactly is the problem?”
“I seek perfection for you, and I fall short. Is that bad?”
[pause] Only because you will be disappointed.
“I want it to always be like this. Just the way we are right now. Falling, drowning, intoxicated. ”
When everything changes, at least nothing stays the same.
“What are you? Why do you make me want to be better? Why am I afraid of disappointing you?”
It’s not about me. I-am-you-are-me. We are mirrors.
“You make me think and for that I don’t know whether to love you or hate you. You play with me; I am but your putty.”
One plays with playthings. You are a lover. And one only loves lovers.
I am afraid of how you look at me. Afraid of your gaze that strips me naked.
If you turned away from me, I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d be invisible, even to myself.
“No piercings. No inking. I can tell, that’s not your thing.”
What do you know? – Tonight as you sleep, I tattoo your spine with kisses like stars.
“Words have no place in love. Grammar, punctuation… it falls miserably short of any genuine expression or feeling.”
Quiet now, and sleep. Curl into me. A comma alone. Together a parentheses.