Things That Feel Like Love

Being in a room loud enough, full of enough people that I can sit in silence and watch. Being in a room with no one. Quiet enough and empty enough that I can sit in silence and watch.

One full day going by without anyone asking me for anything. Actually, one full day going by without anyone without anyone talking to me at all, except to say I love you, I miss you, or I’m sorry. Even better if it’s a week, a few weeks, months maybe. I’m sorry if I don’t respond.

Sitting in the sun with my eyes closed and someone sitting next to me. Feeling their presence without touching, without even looking, and getting that warm feeling in my chest in knowing someone else is close to me without my asking.

A kiss on the shoulder. A hand on my lower back or on my forehead. A lousy arm draped over mine. A head on my chest or my stomach. A hug from behind. A chin in the crook of my neck. Kissing the face in the crook of my neck on the cheek.

Listening to someone else’s heart race or watching their hands shake when I touch them. Or catching someone looking at me in the corner of my eye when they think I can’t see, then blushing in embarrassment and watching them smile as I blush.

Crying in front of someone else and not feeling embarrassed (I haven’t felt this one yet but I think one day maybe I will). Hearing someone and actually listening. Saying something and actually feeling heard.

Not wanting a book to run out of pages, not wanting a journal to do the same, texting back and forth not wanting to ever run out of things to say. Hoping for a phone call, or a letter, or something else. Maybe anything else.

When someone knows when to go without me having to say, when someone knows when to stay without me having to say. When someone makes you feel like you know what any of this is all for. When someone doesn’t even make you question what this is all for. When someone wants you.

Birds feel like love, always.

So do thunderstorms,

rain,

trees,

New York City,

my room,

Pink Floyd,

Phoebe Bridgers,

being covered head to toe in fabric when my skin crawls,

counting from one to a million,

long, deep breaths even when they’re rattling between my lungs,

lying on the cold bathroom floor until I feel fine,

trying even when trying feels like lifting an eighty ton train,

waking up at seven to drink a glass of water when I’m hungover,

drinking a glass of water at anytime for any reason,

dancing,

singing,

crying often feels like love to me.