I think I would love you anywhere, anytime.
I think I would love you if I were the moon and you were the sun, never meeting but tied over by fanfare and fairytales.
I think I would love you if I were the sky and you were the earth, sitting still while my clouds drift by with chalant jubilance.
I think I would love you if I were the sand and you were the waves, crashing into me and wearing me down, affecting me far more than I’m affecting you.
Not in every universe, but in quite a few.
The destiny of my musings to sit on a shelf collecting dust, to be so carefully sculpted but so carelessly thought of, to contain all of me and none of you.
I think I would love you if we were lonely houses in a neighborhood, not abandoned but not quite used, staring at one another all day while the earth spins beneath us.
I think I would love you if we were granules of dust settling after the apocalypse, finally alone in a marooned world of ash.
I think I would love you if we were dried-up contacts sitting on my nightstand, shriveled up but still together, waiting to be thrown away.
That made no sense, and that was stupid, but I think I would love you if you made no sense and I were stupid.
I think when the stars finally explode, and the earth finally ends, after a life of listening to the birds chirping and the passionate songs of forlorn hope, I might have moved a meteor or two with my love.
I think I would love you if I were lying in my bed, typing out a string of half-hearted but fully meant metaphors, while you lie in yours, not thinking twice about me.
And that’s okay.
Because that’s the fate I’ve chosen, that’s the chapter that I’ve written, and that’s the destiny dated to me.
The destiny of my musings to sit on a shelf collecting dust, to be so carefully sculpted but so carelessly thought of, to contain all of me and none of you.
I think I would love the knife that stabs me if it looked at me the same way you do.
I think I would love the poison that coats my tongue as it dwells on my last words if it even acknowledged me.
I think I would love the noose that hangs me if it caressed my neck so gently.
I think I would love the bullet that pierces my flesh if it dared to smile at me with half as much draw as you.
I think I would love the apple that Eve ate, I would love a snake that bit me, I would love a trap that I fell for.
I think I will find a way to love until my last breath, even if it kills me.
