Arrested By Your Gravity: A Philosophical Freefall Into Desire {NSFW}

Want To Listen To The Article Instead? 

Listen to it HERE.

–

I hope you know by now. I’m crushing hard on you. You are the shiny object I’m trying to get away from, yet there’s nothing else in the world that commands my attention the way you do. And I’m going all in.

When our orbits first collided, I tried to name the feeling. I rummaged through the library of sensations to understand what I felt when I imagine your breath on my clavicle, or your eyes tracing a slow line down my throat to the middle of my chest, mapping me without permission.

I can’t write or move because my headspace is crowded by clouds of your memories. I’m doing other things, of course, only to come back and daydream on these soft fluffy pillows.

My lips are on the coffee cup, but even from here, my eyes are traveling all over you. The distance is quiet, but the longing is deafening. I crave to pull your hair into my face, to press it so close to me that it becomes the only thing I taste in the world.

I bring my feet closer to my body in a tight hug as I think of us this far away. Can you imagine the trouble I’d get us into if you were any closer? The coffee is already causing a disorienting storm in my cup.

My purpose, my work, and my writing — they were my anti-depressants. Now, this new hunger refutes logic and undermines my every defense to keep existential angst at bay. Love was supposed to be the blueprint. So why am I losing my way?

When I read Baldwin, he tells me that love’s a way of growing up. Love is courage. It tears off the masks we cling to, the ones we pretend we can live within but know we cannot. True love demands that we face it without flinching.

I’ve also borrowed Plath’s words and made them mine. Don’t kiss me, so you will know how important I am.

This desire’s destroying me. From comatose wandering through my days, I am now ablaze in the wilderness of being alive.

You’re unraveling my control. Yanking me out of my comfort zone into the savage thrill of adventure, leaving my heart stripped bare and naked for every passerby to see.

Success is writing you a draft text, and evaporating it with deliberate backspace keystrokes. I don’t want to sound desperate, do I?

Advaita taught me that the light inside me is the light of the universe that’s within all of us. This light must be within you too. So, you’re already inside of me and I’m inside of you. Instead of being comforting, the teeth of this philosophy is biting on my nerves.

Love is reckoning that death might be kinder than this dreaded longing. Yet, beauty and the arts are why I’m still alive.

I am all in. And in this dream fever, I’m free falling into your inescapable gravity.

At the desk. At the stove. In bed. I imagine us spooning so hard, so reckless, so completely into obliteration. Even if we’re not fused together, I’m sweating in surrender. This wild fire inside me can only be contained by another intentional spark, so we can combust and fling ourselves into another galaxy.

From one degenerate to another, here are my final words. Come, light this match stick. Let’s set these sheets on fire.

Or tell me to stop and pull away before the blaze eats your world too.

Heart Graffiti

– 0 –

Poetry

Human life without some form of poetry is not human life but animal existence. ~ Randall Jarrell