Come On In

...have a seat. It's nice to see you. Would you like a cup of coffee?

It's been quite a weekend. We need to talk. What shall we talk about? Well, how about intimacy - something that has been missing in my life.

Intimacy. The state of being intimate, innermost, essential. Honesty. Sexual relations. Ability to make commitments to others and to love. Erikson's sixth stage of human psychosocial development: intimacy vs. isolation.

But here's the catch: if you choose isolation, you will die.

...and here's the reassurance on the heels of that warning: if you are reading these words, you have already chosen intimacy. Perhaps there is a thread of passion between us.

I am crouched here in the glow of my computer screen whispering, writing, fashioning my story, and you are listening. Maybe if I put my worst face forward, I can scare you away. I find sunsets boring. Housework? I never do it. I don't own a hairbrush. Even small crowds make me nervous. Yes, you'll have to get used to my cussing. What possessed you to buy those shoes?

Look, I can be mean. I am crazy, weak, bitter, and blind.

No, wait! Come back. I can be courageous, too. Yes, I can even be kind - kinder than the softest touch that brushes away a tear.

Follow me. There's no need to mention the ripped screen door. I know, I've been meaning to fix it. Just keep walking. I'll show you my unwritten books, withdrawal symptoms, scarred lungs, the chemical remnants of antidepressants, my secret penchant for little boxes & cut out pictures, the scars from when I was attacked. ...and there's your jacket--the one you left on my floor 10 years ago.

Hush, I already know there's a name for this, a diagnosis, a fitting song, a website, a 12-step program. ...but I don't want any of those things. I just want inside.

Maybe we can find a comfortable spot here between memory and possibility - shuck the bitterness and only keep the good. We can pick things apart over warm saki. I'll pour yours if you'll pour mine. Can I get you anything? Put on a favorite song? I'm glad you came. Just, please, leave no more behind than you can help me sort through. Please tell me your stories of unsimple undertakings, severed relations, the tantrums you threw because you were stuck. Show me the paths marked by acupuncture needles, the hole in your heart, the unnamed streets that cut a labyrinth through the subdivision of custom homes. We'll trace our way back through that neighborhood if you like.

You'll forgive me, won't you, when your favorite songs make me cringe? They remind me why I wanted so badly to stay a long time ago. Put on something else and I'll follow you now. I'll wear white like the bright bone of my promise. I'll speak in whispers, then wear blue and blend into the dusk. After the light has gone, I'll walk tall and wear red so the blood won't show.

I won't be lying when I whisper I think you're beautiful.

I won't abuse the power if you won't.

I'll call your bluff if you'll call mine.

I'll trust you, even if you do not trust me.

Remember, if you choose isolation, you will die. ...but it's still tempting. Sign off, close the window, tell all your friends it was the other one who got scared. It'll be back.

Here I'd imagined it was selfishness that was driving you all these years. Should we be relieved or horrified to discover that it was in fact fear?

These interior cities and subway tunnels are earthly places. How long can we stay? I'll hold your hand if you'll hold mine.