Jeremy and I have moments.
Jeremy and I have moments.
We call them “moments” because that’s what they are—distinguishable moments in time where something happens; usually it’s falling more in love. It’s difficult to be concrete here because what happens isn’t concrete; it’s a feeling—a thickness of the air or a sharper focus of feeling. They are moments when all of the feelings I have for Jeremy come into focus again—like I’m cleaning off a pair of fingerprint-covered glasses; I can see it in all of the detail and clarity I’d unknowingly forgotten. But then, in these moments, it all snaps back into place so suddenly and so forcefully, and I’m overwhelmed with love and adoration and thankfulness that somehow, out of all of the people we could be in love with, somehow, we are in love with each other. I had one of these last night, camping out in the living room.
We wanted to watch an episode of Lost, but things still aren’t fully put away in the apartment yet (for lack of a place to put them; we still need another bookcase and desk), so rather than move the tv into the bedroom again, we moved the air mattress I’m sleeping on into the living room. So we’re sitting there before we start watching, the game closet is hanging open, and I see the board game Loaded Questions. I get the impulse to ask Jeremy a question from it: if you had to get a tattoo right now, what and where would it be? Without any hesitation, Jeremy said, “either the lyrics to ‘True Believers’ by the Bouncing Souls or ‘Change’ by Blind Melon. Probably ‘Change.’ Right here.” He pointed to his forearm.
“Can I hear them? The lyrics?”
“Right now?”
“Absolutely.”
So on that note, Jeremy went and got my ipod speakers and his ipod, he laid down on the air mattress in the mess of pillows with me. The only light was from the glow of the ipod screen on his face (music is almost always better in the dark). He introduced the first song, “True Believers” by telling me why it’s so important to him, his connection to it, what it means to him. Then he pushed play and whispered the first few lines as they played so I could hear them clearly. “I've met some people along the way / some of them split some of them stay…” And I watched his face light, from the light of the ipod, but mostly from sharing this thing that he is so intensely passionate about. Then, the lyrics to "Change":
I don’t feel the suns coming out today
it’s staying in, its gonna find another way.
as I sit here in this misery, I don’t
think I’ll ever see the sun from here.
and oh, as I fade away,
they’ll all look at me and say, (and they’ll say)
hey look at him! I’ll never live that way.
But that’s okay
they’re just afraid to change.
This moment was remarkable. The intimacy of the dark, the whispering, the warmth and comfort of the blankets, the playfulness of lying upside-down, the bed being in the living room— the passion on Jeremy’s face as he spoke the lyrics… it was fantastic.
One of my favorite things in all of life is watching people experience the things they’re passionate about. There is the fact that they’re sharing this thing with me; they trust me enough with it, and that is flattering. But mostly, I love watching people with that look on their faces—the one of bliss, of eagerness, like what they're sharing with me is the best thing in the world, because for them, it is.
