Loving Like an Existentialist by Savannah Brown

"There are many theories as to how we came to be

I’m not sure which one I believe.

Did we appear as dually flickering lights above a hazy skyline—

fluttering,

distant,

choking on stifling fog

First, solitary decades of life as a lukewarm utterance

whispering, “Oh what is this emptiness?”

Haggard gesturing suggesting half isn’t missing, but whole.

But someday,

when beacons collide, not coincidence but prophecy,

wrenching claims of meant to be

The sparks erupt,

in ultraviolet chaos—volcanic, raging,

a mighty wallop of color and sound,

a shattering cry of belonging splitting time itself.

I don’t think so.

I don’t think I was born to love anyone except myself,

but even that, some days, I’m not sure is true.

I don’t think our initials are carved into anything immortal.

Let alone battered into the very cosmos

The air didn’t—lock into place upon our arrival,

awaiting the moment our silhouettes would one day fill the empty space

I could fall in love with a melody—

let it crawl through my body,

or train ride, or alabaster sheet; there are chemicals that do these things to me

I could grow fond of many things,

but,

how particular my fondness of you

How fervent

How violent, how gentle.

I think we’re just moths,

riding on the backs of giants

And I wasn’t drawn to you because our wings are both blue,

but, because they’re the same color as everyone else’s

And you were willing to listen

to why that scared me.

We’re not star-crossed,

but we can still wrap ourselves in the seams of a quilted universe that we didn’t stitch.

Bathe in the glow of the sun that doesn’t shine for us.

Run atop an earth that doesn’t feel our hurried foot steps

as they thump, thump, thump.

How lucky we are to have nothing expected of us.

Quickly,

all the time we’ll ever know is tapping her toes on the doorstep

And I don’t want to keep her waiting."

Granted, one of the most hauntingly beautiful poems I ever read.