Pre And Post Pandemic Poetry

Can 36 questions lead to love?

No. I don't believe they can.
Not unless there's already something there. Something hidden beneath the ruins of a crumbled relationship.

Ask me the questions you say.
Perhaps we'll get somewhere.
I refuse.
I don't need to ask.
I know.

I know who you'd rather have over for dinner.
John frusciante
Or perhaps Quentin Tarantino.

I know What accomplishments you've made.
What aspirations you had. I know about your past and your upbringing too.
We were just kids when we met.
Me, a struggling teen parent working two jobs to keep their kids afloat.
And you, the aspiring, drug abusing musician with the most promising amount of talent.

I hindered you.
I know I did.
My baggage weighed you down.
Chained you to a responsibility that wasn't even yours.

Yet you stayed. You fought. You cried and you struggled. With my help you got better. The withdrawals slowly subsided. Things seemed to be going well.

When I didn't want to keep breathing, you breathed for me.
When the world kicked me down, you yanked me back up.
You pulled me from the self-deprecating tar pits I was drowning in.

You helped me, loved me, held me.

You think I never listened. That I didn't care. I cared too much. Too much to want to see you hurt. Too much to see you struggle. But my concern crowded you. I stifled your flame and snuffed it out. You lost yourself in your head and I didn't know how to get you out.

I still don't.

But I can say that I know what your perfect day is. A day with the kids. A day filled with silence and embraces. A day at home with computer games and dessert.

We're so different.

I'd rather be outdoors. I wanna see the stars. I wanna go to the observatory for the first time  ever. Now it seems like I'll never get to.

Yet there's no one else I'd rather be trapped with. No one else I'd rather watch die. It's beautiful, breathtaking. The way you're slowly losing your life. I wonder if you'll feel the same some day.

You've just turned 27 and I know your scared. I am as well.
Perhaps even more than you.
The 27 club was your end.
You told me when we met.
You said you would die on your 27th birthday like all the great musicians before you.
Yet here you are, still breathing, still living for me, for us.

I'm selfish. Despite your pain, despite your qualms, I need you.
I need to see you smile.
Too see that mounted incisor peek out when you smirk. I miss the taste of your plump bottom lip. Courtesy of that under bite I adore much.

I wish I could connect the dots with every freckle that marks your skin. I counted them all there's 58 total. Including the one nobody else knows about. I wish I could see a glimmer of hope somewhere in those amber eyes. I wish I could see them gleam.

Why would you ask how I believe I will die? You already know. You know I don't fear death. I just fear for those I'll leave behind when my time comes.

Three things we have in common? There's so much we share. So many views and ideas that it's hard not to finish your sentences. Even now I do it. You do it as well. I'm certain I owe you two cases of soda at this point in the jinx game.

You're socially anxious. I already know you hate making calls. That responsibility always falls on me. So I repeat my lines two and three times to get them right.

You say it's not me.
Yet I can't help but feel responsible.

I recall a few times when you blantly confirmed it. Times when everything was too much and you turned to me with your confession. It was my fault. Your worries, your pain, your depression– I was the cause.

I loathe myself. You know this well. You were there for the cough syrup overdoses and the crippling panic attacks.

So what can 36 questions do at this point? Nothing at all for me and you.
We're in too deep. You're face is engraved in my soul, in my sketchbook.
You occupy the third part of my heart that my kids didn't claim.

So if you tell me to run...I'll run.
Tell me stand, I'll stand till my heels blister.
You told me to breathe,
so ill breathe until my inhaler can't help anymore.

But there's only one thing I want from you.
And it's not 36 answers.
It's not 36 ends to trivial inquiries.
It's something harder.
Something you don't do often.

I want you to smile..

I want you to laugh.
I want you to play.
To tickle the keys and tug on those strings the way only you can.
You're indispensable
Indescribable
Improbable
Yet, real.

So give me 36 smiles. One for every year you've been here and 9 more for the future I'd like us to share.

I finally see what part of me you complete.
You're my dark side.
The side of me I can't let out, that's your domain.
You tame it so I don't have to.

In return, I'll give you 36 embraces, 36 kisses, caresses.
We'll listen to 36 songs of your choice in succession and share 36 candies of your preference.

I'm certain together we'll reach those dreams you thought were unattainable. I'll make you see that you don't have to hold back your tears, that You can cry in front of me and not be judged.

I'll cry with you.
You know I can't help it.
So don't ask me 36 questions, when we've already lived through the answers.