None of the Above

None of the Above has suddenly become my theme song and I think of those cold winter drives past the Mason Dixon, and I long to head north to an all night restaurant in North Caldonon while I watch you trace my outline in spilled sugar. I remember those nights when we thought it was impossible for us to live without each other and perhaps in that moment it was true. And now? And now you’ve sent me to pick coffee beans in Guatemala and learn to make patatas a la importancia in Spain and maybe you’ve started to trace my outline while drinking coffee that tastes like soap. I try to replace the cold space in my borrowed bed with a perfectly pressed Milanese man, but I felt nothing. My body is warm and tired but my soul is cold. And now matter how much I want not to want you I realize now that maybe I need you. I hope you’re eating dinner with a bunch of the Jews and impress them with the Yiddish I’ve taught you, but are silently weeping inside as you tell the story of how you became a boy with no last name. I hope you pick up a loaf of Challah on Shabbat and think that this loaf could never send a woman into labor. I hope you miss me. Despite my actions to fill your space I hope you haven’t done the same. As selfish as it is I want to know that even in the moments I didn’t miss you, you were drinking an espresso and thinking about the one I was making at that moment. And as much as I hate the thought of a month back in the states I can’t wait to see you again, kiss you at the airport like no one is watching and spend an entire Saturday in bed while Carla Bruni runs on repeat. I want my parallel lives to easily coexist and perhaps one day in the not too distant future they’ll happily merge into one complete existence.