Tell me

I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them. Tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me like you mean it. Tell me your mother’s name. Describe your bedroom when you were 6 years old. What makes you laugh? Have you ever been so happy you wanted to cry? Do you smoke cigarettes; have you ever experimented with drugs? What is the craziest thing you’ve done for love? What’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you? Tell me about your first time. Tell me what turns you on, what turns you off. Have you ever been unfaithful? Tell me about the girl who broke your heart. Do you sometimes miss her?

I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Does the smell of rain remind you of God?  Tell me about your first kiss on the lips. Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad, even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? What do you think of your first name, given a choice, what would you change it to? I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel. If you witnessed a robber steal a woman’s handbag in town, would you scream, ‘Thief! Thief! Thief!’ really loud or would whisper.

Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin? Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea? And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me, how would you explain the miracle of my life to me? I want to know if you believe in any god, or if you believe in many gods. Or better yet, what do you believe in? And for all the times you’ve knelt before the most high, have the prayers you’ve asked come true? And if they didn’t, did you feel denied? And if you felt denied, denied by who[m]? I want to know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling good. I want to know what you see in the mirror on a day you’re feeling bad. I want to know the first person who taught you to dance.  Tell me about a time when life humbled you. Are you allergic to anything? What’s your favorite scent? What’s your shoe size? What do you eat for breakfast? Are you a rugby fan? What Sport do you watch?

If you ever reach enlightenment, will you remember how to laugh? Have you ever written a poem? Would you think less of me if I told you that I believe the zodiac messages they print on the papers each day and I am not nearly as smart as I write? What is your birth stone? Do you celebrate birthdays, Valentines and anniversaries? Where do you see yourself in 2 years, 5 years, 15 years? Do you want to be a father? And if yes, will you give your kids English names? What do you think of marriage? Tell me about your family. About Sunday breakfast and Friday night dinner. Tell me about the things your father taught you about manhood. When you imagine all your dreams realized, who is the one person standing next to you?

See, I want to know more than what you do for a living. I want to know how much of your life you spend just giving. And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I want to know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds. And if you dream sometimes that this life is just a balloon that if you wanted to you could pop—but you never would because you’d never want it to stop. Do you feel small standing by the ocean? Do you sometimes know it when you see it? And lastly, let me ask you this: if you and I went for a walk, and the entire walk we didn’t talk, do you think eventually we’d kiss?2 lovers


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s