At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”
In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely face of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare
I am your happy. I am your morning coffee. I am your promotion at work and the long awaited plane ticket between your fingers. I am the pants that fit you perfectly and the day right after the rain stops. I am the little bookstore on the corner and the spontaneous stranger at the train station that smiles a lot. I am her, the one you keep staring at. I am the amazing dinner with delicious lips for dessert and loud, passionate midnight snack with scars you don’t notice until the morning. I am a warm night in tight arms and a 5 hour conversation.
I am your sad. I am a crowded bar with no one to talk to. I am the letters of “We regret to inform you” that sit on a pile on your kitchen table. I am the birthday that reminds you how many years have passed and how lost you still are. I am your insufficient funds. I am the text message ✓Read 3:25am with no response and 0 Missed Calls in the morning. I am the restless night and your scrolling finger. I am the old pictures you refuse to delete from your phone. I am the one you don’t want to think about, that you think about.
I am your passion. I am the one who you need to prove wrong, that you are worth something, that you will make it. I am no sleep and a desk lamp. I am your 9 hour workday. I am blood and I am sweat and all the excuses that you ignore. I am the “Fuck you, I’ll do this without you”. I am everything you find beautiful and the one true love in your life. I am the target that you need to hit. That you need to hit. You need to.
I am your life. And though you might curse every part about me today, I promise you, I will still be here in the morning.
If you ate my pussy please don’t ever try to disrespect me. Homie I fed you.