R. tells me, Every time I find myself talking to you I love you all over again; like remembering, but also new.

I tell him, Which is the same with me; see every time I talk to you I love you and even if we don’t talk I love you and even if I only think of you I love you too.

With all my heart I am hoping you have someone like this in your life. I’m too much alone to have plenty, but someone willing to be vulnerable with me, even if just the one person, is enough.

Happy birthday, R. What a great accident, our meeting, you say. I am thinking, what a holy mishap of events. I am thinking, hot damn. I am thinking: yes.

Gray
Alice Walker

I have a friend
who is turning gray,
not just her hair,
and I do not know
why this is so.

Is it a lack of vitamin E
pantothenic acid, or B-12?
Or is it from being frantic
and alone?

‘How long does it take you to love someone?’
I ask her.
‘A hot second,’ she replies.
‘And how long do you love them?’
‘Oh, anywhere up to several months.’
‘And how long does it take you
to get over loving them?’
‘Three weeks,’ she said, ‘tops.’

Did I mention I am also
turning gray?
It is because I adore this woman
who thinks of love
in this way.

Two sisters in an argument, in which one slaps the other hard. Her breath whooshing out, the unexpectedness of what she’s done. Her chest heaving, gasps that struggle to come out, surprise at what she could do. I am a witness to this but was powerless to stop either one. I had hoped that my love would be enough.

Love Is Not Concerned
Alice Walker

love is not concerned
with whom you pray
or where you slept
the night you ran away
from home
love is concerned
that the beating of your heart
should kill no one