I think my whole life has been a study in intimacy.
There is a poem inside me begging to crawl out:
it is called twilight
it is called each other’s company,
written out, bled everywhere.
There is a give and take that my life depends upon.
I spent years learning, unlearning,
learning the truth of our bodies.
Finding the space between us,
a jump rope, a lifeline.
Love is both wave and particle,
infinite and infinite.
If you asked me to, I could remember every conversation we’ve had.
Throw paint at the wall, call it intimacy.
Call it waking dreamscape, call it the dichotomy of
This body, this hovercraft of longing, reaches to touch.
You mean so much to me.
Intimacy, forwards, backwards, sideways
intimacy, scrawled all over my body
Your heart is the only book I keep by my bed:
every day, a handwritten page.
Even when I thought I hated you, there was not a single moment when I wanted you out of my life forever.
—By Irene Vazquez