We are two separate people, except for sometimes when making love or laughing at something in unison. The lovemaking and the laughing are the exceptions. Otherwise, we are two people together. Side by side. Playing in the space of love.

And when we are not two people side by side, playing in the space of love, then we are two people separated by space, united by love. Still playing in the space of love.

I fall asleep curled next to the silhouette of your memory. I think about breathing. I think about how every breath I take is one less to go before we can breath side by side. Until we can put our mouths together and breath as one. Until you ask me questions only my body can answer.

When you are inside me we are part of a garden that is part of a landscape that is part of a world that no one else believes in. This love is different, and being different makes it hard. This is wide open love. This is doors hanging on the hinges love. This love rips through the house and slams the cabinet doors, making them clack loudly. This love roars and whimpers throughout every room. This love rustles the sheets on all the beds. This love takes your hand, peels it open, then snaps it with a rubber band.

Our reflex is to grab this love, to clutch it. But we must learn to let it go. Over and over and over again. This love requires us to remember each other. This love requires conscientiousness and consciousness, requires us to be constructive. This love makes us work for anything concrete.

I say I am in pain but I am thriving in your love. I am a neon raspberry bouncing down the street. I am a helium balloon floating on the breaths you take during the most erotic moments of our boundless bonding.

I need you, Craig. I don’t even know what that means, entirely. But it’s a big fucking deal.