A crush may be momentary, or not—but it is a cleansing, cheering storm after an awful, sad, sad heartbreak.
We have no fucking idea.
Particularly when we view ourselves as solid, as me vs. the world.
If we fear impermanence, we’re done for (we’re done for either way).
If we smile into fear, if we smile as we cry, our life may be rainbow—sunshine and rain, joy and pain. That’s life, at it’s best, which isn’t living our best life, but living our life right here, fully.
Bonus: when we’re broken hearted, we won’t fall into depression so easily. When we’re broken hearted, we might develop a fleeting…crush. ~ Waylon
When I have a crush
it is meaningless, you might think
it’s the echo of an echo, bouncing back from across the canyon
it is the faint whiff of the local flower booth at the farmers’ market…but I am rushing by through the market nodding to community but set on getting home, sweet home after a long day
in time to get ready to rush out again, and attend that other wonderful thing
…community is a busy richness
where were we
it is largely a preconception built upon looks—for what else do we know?
—I like her red blond hair, her elegance, her friends seem like good humans, I like that she seems to care about our environment, or perhaps god willing she loves animals and our earth
(a lady angrily unfollowed me yesterday and messaged me to make sure I understand she was leaving her virtual fanhood bc I had shown my “true colors” and I was “judgmental” in valuing a someone who didn’t “murder” animals—
—this person was not wrong in any one of those failings of mine, and I have many more where those came from)
where were we
and yet, still, a crush is a gateway into something new. But likely not what I may hope for, or expect.
It is a storm—a joyous rain if we dare to step out into it and let the water quicken our hearts
it is a storm that, even dried off, keeps us up ’til 3 am, or something, tired, sleepy, but still we listen to the distant thunder
so distant this storm that its lightning flashes light other households far from mine
and yet, the storm may travel
and even when, finally, we go to sleep, I dream of her. All night, lightning, rain, a fire to keep us warm, a new fiery friend, kindling curling in the orange licking golden flame.
And when I wake, the storm is past, and yet—all the world is new, clearer, more vivid, it has washed away my cold grief. And while I grieve, still, it is clearer now, it is raw and now it may heal.
Thank you, Storm.
Perhaps the gateway that is a new Crush is closed, locked, rusted over, hidden by magic as in Tolkien or dense overgrown hedges as in my mom’s well-loved old book, The Secret Garden
And yet still a crush is the beginning of the beginning of something
love, tender, travel, children, dressing up for the Nutcracker in the castle a brief bikeride away from our cozy home of many seasons
Sunday matinee, I’ll wear tweed and a red tie and we’ll dinner with friends first and you’ll lean into me on the walk over, it’s cold for you.
Still, though, this is likely the beginning of nothing, too, and almost always is. A rational view so quickly writes The End on this short story.
A crush is the first chapter
or a thin poem
it is a holy thing, I say—for whether it continues on, or not
I say thank you.
For you are a breath of my new life, the resurgence of a lonely hope after a sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad break up with my love, mi amor.
In the midst of all this sad, sad, sad…this momentary crush gave me sweet joy, if only too briefly.
And hell: if life is lived here, now, well then even one present passing moment of warmth
is something to say
…dear you, as we pass by one another into the rest of our merry lives.
where were we
We are here. Together. For one hour. Let us make love into the ether.