FAILING THE TEST
This is what it feels like. I took a test. I failed.
Answered all your questions, honestly. Shared my most personal thoughts. Talked about my history.
You pummelled me with questions, like a fighter in the ring, and I spoke, moved by hope in my heart, in my heart.
Ten months of questions, answers, conversation, even watching a movie together while texting. At a distance. All at a distance. Then I got a mani-pedi, bought a dress, shaved my legs, gathered the hope in my heart, braved the borders and came to you, your city, your spaces, your home. I dressed and appeared, answered more questions, looked at the size of your fingers, the texture of your skin, the darkness in your eyes. I watched you stand and walk, the stiffness in you. I watched you move your hands while you talked. I noticed more clearly the repetition of certain words. But I couldn’t touch you. I couldn’t smell you. Not yet.
The space, crowded with words, was dense between us. It felt unbridgeable.
Still, we forged forward, meeting in a kiss, in the touching of bodies wrapped in words, words of trust and truth and friendship, but with the prickliness of the tops of t’s and the poke of the dot on an i. I wanted s’s. Softer sounds, rounder shapes, but words will be words.
I took the test. Opened my heart, opened a path, offered the words that describe me, are me. I gave that to you. And more. I unwrapped my body, allowing you to get closer to my heart, close enough to hear its words, its history. I let you in all the way. Then I woke to a new day. Ten months and three days later, there was silence around me where there had been talk. There were no more questions, but my heart was open, beating on a table talking to itself, hoping, still alive but extracted, alone, disconnected from my body, no words to keep it warm, nothing around but empty hope.
I failed the test.
I can’t really explain what it feels like. My heart barely beating on a table. Dashed dreams. A hole where my heart’s supposed to be. It’s not just you who caused this feeling. It’s my fault for again falling prey, again putting hope before reason. Castling in the clouds. Sometimes I think I’m not fit for this world.
Not really a Biography
I have always been inclined to move forward, roll the stone, down, and often up, hills. I've tried to write through it all. Everything on this blog is written by me.