As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I’ve been thinking a lot about the ways we are in touch with one another, the ways we connect. Through an email, a tweet, a call, a text. It comes in and a choice is made. To respond immediately. Or later. Or never. It has become easy to dismiss a person, to save them for another time, to have them when it is convenient.
I wonder about the permanence of sitting beside someone. The possibility of silence. A word that falls before I can catch it. The vulnerability of a me that can not be constructed.
As a writer, I always want to arrange story in a way that makes sense. I never want to be a stutter, an interruption, a bother. But I also know we can take one another to the river, at sunset, that we can stand beneath ribbons of color, and still not be kissed.
It is not convenient to love or be loved.
I’m fearful of convenience.