Men think women like to hear I love you, that we need those words. Carlos knows this is garbage. Instead, he rubs my feet and kisses my toes when we lie under the sun on a blanket in the park. I like to watch him. It soothes to know someone so gentle moves through this world. And here and there, moves through it with me. When he laughs his eyes crinkle and he covers his mouth, because he thinks his teeth are fucked up. I think his teeth are beautiful. He tells me he doesn’t miss me, he isn’t thinking of me, and he definitely will not hold my hand. I tell him I won’t hold his either. Because that is corny, and we are nothing but cool. He knows my darkness, and holds it close, but never against me. I told him I cannot marry him, and he replied whatever made you think I would ask. I told him I cannot live with him, and he laughed and said okay. Carlos is an expert wall-crasher. I know this because I keep building and he keeps taking down. Then last night I asked him about the blank spaces in his story, the pauses, and he shared some of his secrets. So perhaps I am a wall-crasher, too? We laugh at silly things, like his ludicrous belief my dog likes him. And kombucha. When it’s cloudy, he tells me not to worry, he’s done a dance to wish away the rain. What he doesn’t know, and I will never tell, is that it matters little. Carlos is the sun.
It’s funny how life can be one thing in one moment, and quite something else in another. And yet, all the while, remain constant. Exhibit One: Carlos is the sun. xx, M