I am beginning to realise how intensely one person can affect another. Compounded with that idea, I am also beginning to realise how fragile one can become once overcome with affection.
It seems terrifying, and I wonder why the business of attraction is so messy. I've been wondering why attraction exists despite good sense. It seems so, incredibly, illogical.
And yet it is warm and desirable.
Peripherally relevant to that, there's a quote from the film Interstellar I've been dwelling on lately.
"Love isn't something we invented. It's observable, powerful, it has to mean something."
When I was younger, Mum would tell me
To steer clear of the breakable glass,
Go play with soft pillows that flop when thrown.
We only had so much plates and mugs in the house.
But I broke far too many plates anyway,
By scampering through the house unsupervised,
Allowed mirrors to slip through my tiny fingers,
Allowed light to scatter on the floor
Like crystal fragments the stars forgot to pick up.
And I would stand perfectly still
In the centre of shattered starlight,
Knowing that cut glass would not stay clear forever,
Knowing my veins would stain it red.
I learned to temper my touch,
Holdfast the blue porcelain,
But not tight enough to crush.
Hold things like you do the bow of your violin:
Gravity is greedy,
The earth pulls down anything remotely heavy.
The weight of a word
--Love for example--
To send entire atmospheres
Plummeting down to the ground.
Hold it the way you hold your crisp paged books:
Like the text had surfaced from Alexandria’s lost library,
Like you’re holding the very last copy.
With light fingers,
I learned to hold my heart.
Fragile are the parts we keep hidden,
The parts we realised could shatter when broken.
So, please, be patient
Fragile are we
Suspended in between my dreams and reality.
I wish we could collide so fiercely
The way giant gas clouds are pulled together by gravity,
To form brilliant suns
That illuminate rivers,
Cause them to laugh
And splash waves onto embankments.
I wish we could collide so fiercely,
But I would explode in plumes of Helium,
Shatter into a million incoherent pieces
Into a being who is not me.
So, please, be patient
If the concept of ‘we’ should even exist,
‘We’ are volatile hearts:
Gunpowder stored underneath a furnace.
We could collide,
But I’d rather we slip slowly into each others palms:
Parts of ourselves we never knew we wanted
Until we’d caressed its delicacy at the tips of our fingers.
Patience is, perhaps, the longest road we’d tread,
But I know not another course of action.
I’m not used to taking things anywhere,
My pace is as slow as a coma patient’s response,
My hesitation is the acknowledgement
That ‘we’ fall under the category of ‘fragile things,’
I know that life has its own gravity,
And I don’t want to be too greedy
Lest we shatter
Like crystal fragments
Or falling stars
That stain red from our veins.