I have been inside quite a few relationships.
I’ve gathered up miles, kisses, spoke the word love more times than I can keep track of, and find myself at this certain age feeling the wrath of commitment.
Forget the idea of girlfriends, partners, wives, lovers.
I’m talking about myself here.
I have a difficult time committing to me.
And oddly enough, this constitutes as my longest relationship.
Granted, it’s kind of hard to walk away from me.
(And I’ve tried)
Over two years ago, I got involved with a gender-unconfirmed lover with wide angled bones, graffiti’d thighs, and an unyielding adventurous spirit that never sleeps.
This lover has breath of apple cores.
This lover has many other lovers.
(I guess we are polyamorous.)
This lover speaks more languages than I can keep track of and I tend to feel inferior to this lover’s infinite knowledge of art, music and history.
This lover is moody, though I am too.
And those times when I feel overwhelmed and want to run from all of this,
this lover unpeels the sky and throws the moon up there, extra bright, for me to notice.
Hard to compete with that.
This lover……this…..this lover’s name is New York City.
Nicknames include: Brooklyn, NYC, the apple, my city, my home, the grit of the east.
We’ve gotten quite close recently, but suddenly I find myself looking for more of a commitment.
This is where it gets complicated because I don’t need to be exclusive with New York…..I just need to know that I am wanted.
So, I am pressing this into the earth, as loud as I can get…..
competing with the sounds of police and ambulance sirens
and ladies with curlers caught inside their hair screaming at their own lovers
and subways screeching against the tracks from down below
and car traffic with disgruntled 9 to 5’ers
and the birds outside my windows
and pigeons scraping their beaks against chicken bones left on sidewalks
as I beg this city
with infinite possibilities
this partner of mine
to ask me in the thickest accent I have memorized and cannot do without
persist just awhile longer.
In this land of rainbow’d buildings and elevated parks and benches everywhere and more food than one could possibly consume in a lifetime, I find myself thinking of past lovers:
as I romanticize my life then.
Brooklyn, NYC, the apple, my city, my home, the grit of the east,
I can no longer afford you
why do I feel so lonely when I am surrounded by millions of people
if I could just find a job here that would explain away the student loans and overpriced education
could you just send me a sign that reminds me how phenomenal you are?
I really, really want to be monogamous with you, New York.