Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Figgy Goat Cheese


I thought there’d be more like letters.

Turns out, there won’t be because our situation has advanced.

Instead, I have to do something different — something like this. I don’t ever want to write you a love letter because love letters are for pining, and pining is also something Christmas trees do, and I am not a Christmas tree.

If you haven’t realized it yet, I’m always trying to make you laugh. You and I both know I’m hilarious, but it makes my chest feel dense and fluffy at the same time [like the inside of a mattress] when my hilarity is rewarded with one of your hiccupy, Disney animal friend laughs. And sometimes, when I’m not feeling particularly funny, I just ask you to laugh for me, just so I can hear your fake laugh. It’s thrilling to think the rest of my life could be full of your laughter, peppered by a few fake ones here and there. I especially like the idea of the fake ones, because to me, synthetic laughter is conscious appeasement. And who doesn’t want to be consciously appeased?

That’s like love but with effort.

I get the same dense-fluffy-inside-of-a-mattress feeling when you say things like, “Oh, we can just pick up one of those supper to-go bags from Whole Foods whenever we don’t feel like eating out or doing any heavy cooking.” We haven’t had the opportunity to buy one of those bags yet because we’re too busy eating in restaurants or undertaking some complicated at-home dinner menu, but I like knowing we have the option. Even better, I like that you give us the option.

I never think too far ahead, but you do. You’re planning for a day when we might need a heat and serve prepared dinner for the grocery store, and that’s astonishing to me. Why? Because you might want to have dinner with me again in the future, and you already have a back-up plan.

It doesn’t even bother me that you call it “supper” and not “dinner” like a normal person.

I was going to write much more, but you just pulled up outside my office window and yanked me away from my computer — just to see me before heading home. Readers will think I’m trying to be poignant and convenient, but you seriously just drove off. Now, after you’ve gone, I feel inspired to say something that’s freshly minted in the wake of your absence, but all I can think of are phrases I’ve already heard. There’s no fate worse for a writer than becoming a cliché. But all I can come up with are lines from books and movies. See? That sentence itself is cliché, and I’m doing my damn best to sound original!

How about this: You’ve become my favorite thing to find on the receiving end of my awkward, prolonged stares.

No, not that.

How about: Thinking about you is like delicious figgy goat cheese for my heart.

Yeah. That’s the one. I know no one else will get that, but I don’t care because you do.

And that’s just about perfect.


1 comment:

  1. Knowing your heart is full and happy and loved/loving makes my soul smile <3