I don't know what I'm saying, I'm drunk right now.
This can't be. You can't be real. This whole idea of a you can't be real. I'm fighting it so hard because I don't believe in it.
You appeared. Ok. We noticed each other. We talked. We got drunk. We made out. I've done that before.
I noticed you more than I noticed anybody else, ever, but I didn't notice that at the time.
There was just, something that was slightly different.
It was something about the way that, every time I walked away from you, to smoke, to get another drink, to use the bathroom, whatever. Every time I separated myself from you the night that I met you, every atom in me was focused on just getting myself back next to you as soon as I was able. I walked back in the bar from wherever I'd been and I was looking. You, you, you. Where are you now. Be next to you. Single minded. Just be next to you, wherever you are.
When we were in the desert. It wasn't always perfect. There were times I was confused, or annoyed, or hurt. What you said, what you did. But always you were there like you were supposed to be. Every moment. Everything that was broke could be fixed. Not easily, but naturally I guess. We found all of the broken points even then, and they naturally bound back together.
I don't know what I'm getting at with this. Just that you felt like I was dreaming. Every moment with you was a moment I'd been waiting for. Like you were more than human. Not like an angel. Not like a noun. Not even like a verb. Like some, I don't know, like some abstract adjective that somehow in a single word managed to sum up my entire life. Summed up everything I'd ever dreamed about, everything I'd ever wanted to be, everything I'd ever wanted to defeat. You were just one word that described me.
That word doesn't exist in English. It probably doesn't exist in any language there's ever been. If I were Ursula K Le Guin, I'd say it's my name. You're my name.
Sometimes I get drunk and I ask if you're real. Because I don't believe there's another person who's presence is the same as my name. There can't be. It's not possible.
I won't even let myself fall in love with you to the degree that I would, if you were less than that. Because it's too much. It's not even that I'd have that much bigger of a hole to dig myself out of. It's that you would have my life. I can't give any person that, not even myself. I don't know how, and even if I did I don't know if it's something given to humans to give.
This all just feels so much bigger than me that it's like looking at the stars. Something dreamers do, but just when they're in that place between awake and asleep. It can't be real. It can't stay.
You are my name
And I feel hesitant, maybe even horrified, to even type that out. To hand someone that, even if I'm drunk. I feel my name in the wind that passes through me when you're around. There, put it that way.
