With Without

**originally written 9/12/09**

Why is it that the idea of being with you
Scares me more than being without you?
What kind of sane person chooses that?!
It's like I chose what was behind door #1:
The certainty of emptiness,
A black hole for a spotlight,
The solidity, the beautiful, concrete solidity
Of nothingness.
Because I couldn't handle the storm tossed seas
Behind door #3.
Wave after terrible wave,
Crashing
Crushing
My little boat of a body,
Making me feel like the only reason
I was drowning was because I never learned how to swim.
And door #2?
The straight jacket of you?
Forget it!
Can't live
Can't breathe
Can't move
Cuz I'm too scared that if I do
I'll lose a drop
A breath
A word
Of you.
No freedom versus the freedom of nothing. . .
Hmmm. . .
It's safer here in the quiet without the sound
Of my boots knocking---
No reference implied
To what you'd want to do with me on a Saturday night.
It's safer with the pain of knowing I'm alone with
Nothingness
Than knowing I'll have nothing for the pain
That'll come to spill my guts---
Open me up so far in
And forgive all of my sins---
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe, baby.
That terrible word of "maybe."
A gray zone of uncertainty.
Not light
Not dark.
Pre-dawn fog
Still not sure if it wants to lift
The filmy veil of night.
Maybe means waiting.
An eye of the hurricane,
A loosening of a strap---
A prison
In its own writing of the word.
Bye baby maybe.
Hello. . .
Nobody.
Eeny
Meeny
Miny
Mo,
I choose. . .
This.
. . . . . .
What a way to go.

Uncertainty

It's always so hard to know what
To write in these messages.
You think that you're being witty and clever
By referencing
(Subtly)
Something they said in their profile.
But in reality, you look like some idiot who can't come up with an
Original thought;
And so you have to resort to merely
Looking like you have some semblance
Of wit and humor,
Which ends up being a big turn off for them,
Leading to their silence and leaving you
Wondering what it was you said.
I can't seem to remember this ever happening with you.
You who I met,
You who I wrote to,
Almost two years ago.
Somehow with you I knew it was different.
I knew that when I wrote
"Hi, I'm Beth and I like taking long walks off of short piers, preferably at sunset,"
You'd get it.
But you didn't.
You didn't just get it.
You loved it.
You said it was, quote, genius.
Unquote.
And, to my suggestion that, instead
Of the traditional ho-hum meet up for coffee
Or dinner and a movie,
We go and do laundry,
You replied, quote,
Beyond genius.
Unquote.
And somehow, some way,
That acknowledgement told me
You got it.
You got the subtlety that it was not,
In fact,
That we were on
A date doing laundry,
But that we were doing laundry
And on a date.
And it was the best first date
I ever had.
I beat you at two games of Gin Rummy
While we watched our clothes dance in the machines.
You showed me a different way to fold shirts and
Kept me laughing through dinner.
And at the end of the night,
Not a kiss with the mouth,
But with words to my ears
And a sincere look in your eyes,
"I had a really great time."
You got it.
And after that we seamlessly rushed in,
Full speed ahead.
I wasn't quite sure
But the fish that was you
Swimming around in circles just below my feet said,
"Come on in, the water's fine."
For the record, I didn't jump in
So that I could make you mine.
Nevertheless, I jumped, fell in over my head. . .
And then you were gone.
Later on
You said,
"I wanted you in, but not all the way."
Yet something tells me that, even if
I had let the bottoms of my feet sink below
The surface,
You wouldn't have stayed.
And so I was left soaked through
To my bones,
Not knowing what else to do
But wait for your return.
Slowly, I climbed out, shivering
My body in shock from the cold.
And waited.
And waited.
And finally began to realize that,
As scared as you were
To swim with another,
I was just as afraid of falling in.
The idea of doing so was magically
Thrilling.
But when that water hits your face like a
Stone cold brick of ice,
You wake up.
The fear, the doubt, setlles in,
Like the weight of water-logged shoes pulling you down.
What if?. . .
What if I get too tired and can't feel my legs?. . .
What if there's a storm?. . .
What if I drown?. . .
What if some giant whale comes up and swallows me whole?
What will become of me then?
It's safer to wait.
Even though I know
That if I see you swimming around again,
And hear you ask me to get
More than just my feet wet,
Promising me that your little fish ass
Won't swim away,
I won't believe you.
So now I'm stuck with writing words
Of wit without
Knowing how they'll be received.
There is no certainty in this search,
As you so well proved.
But it is what we are compelled to do,
If we allow our hearts to be moved.