There is a man in my neighborhood who looks like you. He walks a chihuahua and has bad shoes. By bad, I mean those sneakers you used to wear that only belong on the feet of boys aged nine to eleven. I see him outside my window as the placement of the sunbeams gracefully emitted into my room corresponds to the season of you, that moment in time when our paths crossed, and I can feel it all rise upon me again. The only thing missing is the morning wino breath combined with the baby smell of your neck when I placed myself creviced within you, like the rib of Adam. I see the man walking the chihuahua, though, and I can smell it.
There was a man on the rooftop next to mine, on the Lower East Side, one summer afternoon, who looked like you. He had a camera and bad sunglasses. By bad, I mean the ones that middle-aged golfers wear but don’t realize they look like creeps. For about 32 seconds, I was convinced it WAS you. You see, the man looked at me. He looked at me as I was so passionately telling my best friend via cell phone how I believed that love was like standing on a tightrope with someone, knowing full well you will fall and it will be painful but you will fall together.
I still believe that. And you, or this man rather, the man on the roof, looked at me and smiled and it was at that point I thought you may have finally understood me. And for a second, I imagined us both taking the leap, me off my building, you off your building, to embrace one another and fall straight through the crevice of brownstones on 1st street, until splat, we no longer exist in our contradictions but combine as a solid that shall be devoured by the earth and we go back to our original state where our contradictory fears don’t keep us apart.
And I wonder now, why, in our waking life, the contradictory fears keep us apart? For what we had was a simple glimpse, a whirlwind, a mere taste of infinity, but it all dissolves under pressure. Poof, we’re in the past, holding onto pain, and recreating it. And now, I get my taste of infinity when I see the man in my neighborhood walk his chihuahua, buy groceries with his children, pick up his wife’s dry-cleaning. The moment still exists, but rather than experiencing it, I see it outside of me, simply projected into this human cohabitation.
I met a man who looked like you one spring evening, his eyes blue like the oceans inside of me where I let him swim for a few short days before he flew away, like a bird that’s come for his gulp, his sustenance, before embarking further on his journey. I was left temporarily depleted of my resources, but in exchange for water, you gave me air. Air! And when you took off, so did I. There was no splat between first and second street months later, because you gave me wings of wisdom. And so, I hover, from east to west, and glide along with nature’s gusts, embarking into infinity in every aware moment.
I’m an untouched diamond
That’s golden and brilliant without illumination
You’re mouth’s a constellation
Stars are in your eyes
I’ll take a spaceship
And try and go and find you
My pale blue star
How good it is to know you’re like me
Strike me with your lightening
Bring me down and bury me with ashes