I always said the world was too small. Grain of sand on an infinite beach, as they say. So small, so insignificant, that you could get a reasonable understanding of its history and diversity in just one human lifetime. Know the world in 80 years- And people do.
It’s limiting- to be one person on one planet in a constantly expanding universe that’s full of planets.
It feels big now, thanks to you.
Too big for the two people who matter.
I’m overwhelmed by the distance between you and I, I think about it and I get woozy, nauseous. Two little fish (but you’re a bigger fish- are you a shark?) on opposite sides of a big pond. The biggest pond. It’s salty- oh.
Is this the ocean? It’s one I’ve never been in.
I wish I could shrink it all down and make it small enough that you and I were next door neighbors or one town over or states over or at least, in this lifetime, the same continent. I want to step across the ocean like a puddle, when I’m tall enough, and then trip and you can catch me, once you’re strong enough.
You’re a world apart, so far that your sun rises and sets on a different schedule.
Is it the same sun?
Are you the same you?
When you’re there, I mean. Or on my schedule, my land, are you something else, the creature I met when I approached you on my knees, the thing that I thought was a god?
You are a man, and I was full of myself to think I could conquer you then- as a god- or to think I can do it better since I’ve realized you’re something more like an alien. Full of myself-
What am I full of, now? Now that I’ve swallowed your flesh and blood? Now that the god has trembled at my touch and licked the dew from my native thighs with his foreign tongue..
I worry if I see you again it won’t be enough. Did I do it for you then, lost and sad and untethered, unbothered, undaughtered? Dangerous? Did I do it for you with my ratty hair, the glitter in my sinuses and the torn up band shirt (memento of my last victim) draped across my skin like hearse curtains?
Do I do it for you now?
Will I do it for you then, alien, when I step onto the earth of your planet and bask in your different sun?
Or will I be a different creature? Will you take me from my pedestal and realize I’m not a god- will you be happy, when it’s my turn to be the alien?
I never liked blue eyes until yours, you know. How odd that they’re the same color as the thing that separates us