The thing about you is that You're a runner Your legs are long and spindly And your body built for moving fast You have no patience, no time For slowing down and staying a while Which is why when you turned on your pillow Looked me in the eyes and said "I really really really like you" I knew you had fallen fast But that you may never fall deep The thing about us is that We were only ever in passing Our story was a treat You wanted to keep tasting Because it was so sweet But it would never keep us full The thing about me is that I don't know if I'll ever be full I have a deepness inside That may be infinite I'm not sure because I have yet to find the bottom So the thing is This was never meant to be But it still means something to me.
I love staring up at the stars; it is humbling. Somehow staring at the rest of the universe is the only way to bring myself back to earth. As I gaze up, whether it is grass, sand or pavement at my back, I am reminded of my smallness. I remember that the earth is just a small step in a much larger choreography. Smallness is good for humans, with billboards, television, and social media it is far too easy for us to be fooled into thinking we are much bigger than we are. The context that I get from looking up both disorients me and soothes me.
When I stare up at the sky what I don’t see is constellations. To me, the glowing dots resemble a bag of dropped marbles; there is no conceivable order or pattern to their placement. Thinking about them connecting together to form images is beautiful, but also inconceivable. I have never seen the big dipper, and I don’t know if I ever will, and that saddens me.
I crave human connections. I am energized by the type of love that keeps people up at night, the interactions that make strangers feel at ease, or share an emotion with you. These connections are what string people together to create something beautiful and strong. I crave this, I want to be a part of this larger image, but I don’t know how to connect the dots.
I am an observer, and so I watch. I watch at the airport as families and lovers are reunited; I watch at the coffee shop around the corner as customers come in for coffee and leave a part of a community; I watch at the grocery store as a grandmother advises a man on which type of crackers to buy; I watch a mother at the store help her daughter pick out her first bra. It is these small moments that bind us together, that make us entangled, that show us love and make us feel beloved. These moments are the building blocks of all things good and beautiful in this world. These moments also remind me of what is missing. When I enter into a coffee shop I open my laptop to work; when I grocery shop I put in my headphones, when I shop I cringe at the thought of having someone look at my body when I try on clothes.
Maybe it’s me, maybe I am blind to these connections, or maybe light pollution has made them impossible to see. Regardless, I don’t think we give enough attention to the constellations. We need smallness, but we also need each other. Until I can connect the dots I will continue to look up.