I’m infatuated with the mythological
such that I feel dissonance and noncompliance with “reality” or whatever you say is more “realistic”
Like “be realistic” about how you and I can get together this weekend and not end up violently bickering
Or you need to be realistic about your future
Or be realistic about this drastic tangle of Christmas lights
it will take longer than this afternoon for you to really untangle it all
and in a sufficient manner that would please us and/or the Christmas tree

Because I would like to study Arthurian romances or virgin springs and expect it to mirror our lives
Or think about your meaning when you shuffle a shaker of sugar my way across the table,
connecting the myth I believe of your love for me with the symbolism of the sugar being passed
Because I swear that one time you said I must like sweet stuff because of my eyes or because of the look in my eyes or something like that
and it wasn’t even cliche or stupid sounding and I actually believed you

Like I’m a sweetheart or this identifiable thing
(albeit a “cute” thing)
that may or may not give you a toothache
or I might believe you’re thinking I’m like one of those women in a Pre-Raphaelite painting with really long hair
singing to you from rocks on the side of the ocean or whatever
(although I feel that idea would make you wince)

but don’t look out the window like that
I’ll try and do the same
And I’ll sit and read and read and read and read what I think you are trying to say


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