Fruit Fly

I have a fear.

That things will be perfect.

and before we get into it, i just want to clarify what i mean by ‘perfect’ and i promise you its not like the perfect that is portrayed on single frame inspirational posts

it is not the perfect that is achieved or acquired

it is not the perfect that is squealed about during phone calls or high fived about over hipster spotify playlists

it is a perfect that you fall into after losing your footing from trying to keep up with your friends

it is the perfect that slowly bubbles up from a conversation you were ready to discard 5 minutes earlier

it is a perfect that will make you forget all the imperfects you are scared to let go of

it is the perfect that legacies are imperfectly staked on

that will birth one thousand tears and two thousand fears, three thousand smiles and four thousand trials, and five thousand moments you are simply there

the effort never questioned

This is my fear as I see you approach.
I go out to meet you. We walk.

We love walking. Especially to the market. Not because we want to buy anything, more for the pleasant white noise, and local beer.

On these walks I always feel like I
see the earth as a child, and though your
demeanor is always mild, the youthful
energy from when we throw our arms
around each other is unmistakeable.

But this time is different.

Instead of marveling at the fruit fly
in front of us I ask it for directions.
Before I can second guess my initiation
of conversation with a bug it flies
into my eye. I swat and squint but to
no avail as it lays its eggs on my optic
nerve. The light fractions and I become
a human projector, my being streaming
onto the wall ahead.

You see it all.

And I have a fear.

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