Drink Me.

Love is a language I know how to speak.  I can still taste it in my mouth like blood.

You just have to let it rock your world and somehow be prepared for the unknown and the inevitable.  Trust me, they do not say love is like cocaine for no reason.  You will think, say, and do the craziest things all in the name of it.  A friend of mine just recently told me that her mother spent $30k on a love she didn’t even get to have, lended someone the money that she “met” on an online dating site.  That’s what you pay even for the idea of love.  It sounds out of line but you really will do anything to have that feeling and make it last.  Maybe not in dollars, but in time.

I think it all happens at a specific time or place, it will fall right in your lap like a light feather.  You won’t even notice that it’s there until one day it swiftly and ever so gently meets your skin.  You will know, though.  You will know.

It is so crazy where distance and time will put you.  I’m in a position right now with someone that I didn’t expect, but he’s no stranger.  I’m not calling it love, so don’t go wild – but it’s certainly an experiment.  The question is: is there a connection from day 1 and in time it all unravels or is it just a wildcard?  It’s special how the mind and heart work together.  But it’s also damaging when they work against.  You instantly sign yourself up for a power trip and it’s a helluva’ ride.

I’d love to voice about the sweet and easy kind, but would that be nearly thrilling as the daring, dangerously loving kind?

Eminem makes no mistake:  When it’s good, it’s going great – when it’s bad, it’s awful.  Some days you will it make it through and you’ll feel hopeful.  On others, you can feel the nerves in your legs begin to betray you.  You get shaky and sick on the bad days.  You also get shaky on the good days, because you’re scared that one day you will lose it, and never find a love like this.  But like everything else, it starts to feel normal and you have no idea what is coming or going.

I hope you know how to swim.  Love is far bigger and runs much deeper than all oceans combined, but those waves don’t fail.  So I hope you know how to swim for the days you could drown.  The waves are thick as they are forceful, – they will swish you around and take you under like that little feather on your lap that you never noticed.  But you know that feeling.  It’s familiar.   You’ll get bruised, bumped, and scarred.  Your skin will burn of the sweet and salty crash.  The flavor and perfume of it all will numb and impair you, but with the flow you go and you will find yourself above the water.  Eventually.  And have a craving for it to happen again, and again.  Nothing spikes a heart beat like fucking with an open wound.

At one point or another, you’re terrified of yourself.  You have no idea if this is who you are or not.  You will sit, carefully and strategically dissect yourself and hope to figure out what you lost or found within.  Good luck.  There is no method in the world to get to the bottom of your madness.  Everything truly does happen for a reason.  Love is toxic, but holy shit is it tasteful.  To smell your love walk past you even after they’ve already left.  To feel your love on your hands when you’re missing them the most.  To sit at the table, drinking your tea and breathing in the air – the air you share with your love.  To wash your sheets, the sheets where you share your love with your love.  It’s poisonous and delicious.  You will do anything but listen to those who tell you not to do it – don’t drink it.

But you do.

You will hate and love it all in one, unapologetic sip.

And from that point on, you too live in another language.

That taste stays in your mouth.

Like blood.

 

A.

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