it's really you on my mind

Everyone I’ve ever loved, I still love. I can precisely remember their fingertips, how their hand felt on my back, in my hair, wrapped around my waist. I can remember how a piece of me cooled in their presence. How it felt be in the well of their gaze.

The other day, I was listening to Chanel by Frank Ocean. I kept singing

”It’s really youuuu on my mind. It’s really youuu on my mind. It’s really you. ”

Frank’s voice ricocheted through my body.

I remembered the ripples. Each note hits a memory, each note knocking on a door in the past. No one’s home; we keep knocking.

Every man I have ever loved does still have residence in my heart. When Frank sang, “It’s really youuu on my mind.” It’s all of them. They are all singing a slow hum, the chorus in my gut. To be loved is a gift. Painfully magnanimous.

I nurse all of your ghosts in my belly. I sing to you. I pray for you. I cry on days that I think of you.

James once told me that hearing someone’s heartbeat is how you know they are real. I used to lay my head on his chest when I was anxious to remind myself he was real. He was real, and he was present.

I spent time with my head on too many chests, memorizing the thuds, lulling me to sleep. To peace.

You were all too real for me. You all still are.

When brokenhearted, I am crying about you all. About all of the families broken in the future because we didn’t make it. All of the children we didn’t get to name. That one trip we never took.

I don’t think anyone ever stops loving someone. I think life transitions them away from it, but they still have it stuck in their gut, fermenting until ignited by a new contender. Love is the continuation of longing.

Love is the only word with immortal presence. It’s heavy in life and death. I will carry some of the greatest loves with me in my lifetime, in my gut, in my soul, like a bull race. Unhurried chaos. I pray one day this song dulls. The melodies fade to one voice.

When I touch the next man I love, it will be with the afterbirth of you on my fingertips. I will be in mourning, knowing you are a ghost, too.