Be prepared to never mention the fact that you love him ferociously, almost absurdly, hilariously; with a love that pops and bubbles and melts plastic and fights crime. A love that can sharpen knives, speak to animals, and lift objects up to 100 pounds from any surface and rotate it one hundred and eighty degrees around. A love that is maybe probably definitely a poltergeist, stacking five chairs on top of each other, sucking children into television sets. Be prepared to leave that part out.
Instead you will pet him and bite his lip and hide your face in his chest, in his arms. You will tell him a joke and he will laugh and you will be sated. You will forget where you are like waking up still drunk at a friend’s house, wondering how you got here and if you are on a boat because oh god the walls are moving and the ceiling fan is closing in on you, but the bed, the bed is the only sure thing and you can just hold onto it and wake up later. You will let him be the bed, because you’re probably drunk anyway.
Don’t drink so much that you tell him how you think the idea of one fucked-up-person trying to “save” another fucked-up-person is NOT total bullshit, because he overlooked the part where compassion and empathy swarm into that empty cannon-ball-hole in your chest and all of a sudden your ability to give a shit about another human being completely changes and you feel new things and believe new things, you are stronger, more efficient, you see colors only birds can. Just because another person understands your pain does not mean they can or will or want to make it better, make YOU better, you know that, it’s just that they fucking get it when nobody else does.
Like strangers who experience traumatic events together, you could be pulled out of a shark’s mouth at the knees & look up expecting to see that the arm dragging you to shore was his. You imagine that you’re both escaping from the same burning building, both outwitting and overcoming the evil villain taking you hostage, assembling your flotation devices and oxygen masks seconds before all the other passengers and being the only survivors. Only he did all of those things, in the same order, five years earlier than you did, and you never met each other until after. You were mistaken; he was not there with you. Your pain is your own.
Just tell him that he is handsome, smile at him when you can, observe enough to build a memory on. Stuff everything you wanted to say back into yourself like you do to your suitcase when you leave and when you’re finally alone again, catch your reflection in the cabin window. Tell yourself that crashing into the ocean alone doesn’t mean it’s not a plane crash. It’s still a plane crash, and it’s all yours.
Things I did not know, but should.
This is a post that might save a life.
My mom worked for 25 years as an ER nurse and is convinced that a lot of women die simply because folks only know heart attack symptoms that occur in males.
Society thinks our bodies are so scandalous that it’s better to put our lives at risk than to show us how to stay safe
I think we can all agree that an unemployment office doesn’t really need a Yelp review, because even if you’ve never ever been to one, the idea alone is a nightmare hellscape vomitorium of crushed livelihood, but I’m actually, physically standing in this place right now, and I feel like the only way to channel my Ancient-Caveman-Pre-Language-Level RAGE is to put this here. I’ve been approached in a romantic manner twice. I can’t put any funny add-ons or dramatic adjectives in that sentence because it has killed me, spiritually. I have stopped believing in deities I’ve never even heard of. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die here, and no one will discover this review for years to come and now you’re reading this in your social studies class far into the future and there’s a black and white, melancholy portrait of me next to the passage and I ask you to remember me the way I was in that photo, because melancholy is far better than I how feel now, now that I’ve been approached romantically in the unemployment office, TWICE. If a documentarian was shooting footage of me here and you were to see it, you’d be like, “oh wow, you were in the movie Beetlejuice? Because there you are, in the waiting room scene from Beetlejuice!”, and I’d be like, “no dude, that’s the real life unemployment office, but I’m sort of LIKE Beetlejuice because I’m just a mean ghost now”. Either that, or you’d be like, “whoa, you were in Michael Jackson’s ‘THRILLER’ video?!”, and I’d be like, “no dude, that’s the real life unemployment office, but I’m sort of like that girl in the beginning of the Thriller video because I’m surrounded by monsters and super scared and probably dead now”. I’ve been here for two hours now and the woman who said she would help me two hours ago, has now moved to the front of the building and is greeting everyone who walks in. I did not know that the unemployment office had greeters, or that their greeters were horrible liars who trick you into thinking someone will help you so that they can trap you here for hours, presumably for the demon god they worship to emerge in the moonlight later to eat your innards. The man across from me at a computer station coughed directly into my face and inside of my mouth and told me he has been here for FOUR hours, and asked me if I knew any cool websites, which no I do not remember any cool websites because I think my body is now actively dying due to your death-cough that landed directly on my uvula. A small child just closed-fist punched me on my left butt cheek and I’m fairly certain this was an organized hit, but I can’t discern which nightmare-cannibal-tribe he belongs to, but a much larger blonde child with terrifying doll-curls is trying to lift him over his head, probably as a challenge from his opposing nightmare-cannibal-tribe. It is possible that both of these demon children are after me, warring bounty hunters with enemy bosses who were probably brothers at one time, but are now leaders of the two most violent factions. I am almost certain that neither of these children have parents. I think they just work here as security. The lying greeter woman who promised to help me has now disappeared, presumably due to ritual sacrifice. I am now approaching hour three. When you find this, please tell my parents I loved them, even though I was difficult, I always loved them. Please delete my browser history and make sure my dog goes to a loving home. Above all else, never come to this unemployment office. If you ever find yourself unemployed, just do the easy thing and deliver yourself unto the nearest active volcano. SIC TRANSIT GLORIA. End transmission.