—A HARD RAIN’S GONNA FALL

 

 

  OPEN WATER  /  Caleb Azumah Nelson

 

 

You would soon learn that love made you worry, but it also made you beautiful.

 

You’re drawing a line towards her. No, the line was there, is always there, will always be there.

 

If flexing is being able to say the most in the fewest number of words, is there a greater flex than love?

 

Here, you know that this is a feeling you cannot ignore. It’s one thing to be looked at, and another to be seen, you’re scared that she might not just see your beauty, but your ugly too.

 

You’ll learn that kindness is rarely enough.

 

You want your bodies to say what cannot be otherwise said.

 

Under what conditions does the uncontainable stay contained? Things unsaid don’t often remain so.

 

Like Baldwin said, you begin to think you are alone in this, until you read.

 

Perhaps that is how we should frame this question forever, rather than asking what is your favorite book, let’s ask, what continues to pull you back?

 

You’re not very good at answering questions.

 

She reaches up, fingertips grazing the window, as if light is something that can be held.

 

The happy ending is never universal. Someone is always left behind. 

 

You wonder what it means to know someone, and whether it’s possible to do so wholly.

 

There’s no solace in the shade.

 

You don’t always like those you love unconditionally.

 

You think about spillage, and whether this is something that can be mopped up. 

 

You’re like a pair of jazz musicians, forever improvising. Or perhaps you are not musicians, but your love manifests in the music.

 

It is not so much a matter of the head but of the heart.

 

Or do you dance, even when you don’t know the song?