I think I’ll keep myself preoccupied. I think I’ll go out to some bar, or some club, or some place where people tick tick tock around like gears that keep this machine of a city whirring.

They sometimes bump into one another, spilling drinks, flashing smiles, swapping hopes for a brief moment – before descending some staircase or turning a corner into darkness.

Could you be her?

Then there’s our moment, some five years earlier. Your eyes meeting mine from across the room. Slow orbits together, speeding up as the circles tightened. My grin, your black flowy thing you called a cape, our feet swirling underneath us as we found the other’s hands and attempted to dance to a new, conjoined rhythm.

Can I trust her?

You disappeared into the night, resurfacing for our first “real date” almost 2 weeks later where we adventured into the city and danced again. Sparks, flames, fireworks. First kiss in the hallway. Whirlwind weekend and months flew by.

Does she love me?

We went to New York, Copenhagen, Berlin, Prague. Plum liquor and crowds and celebrations and holding tightly when the mass shifted and seemed like it might crush us. I am overwhelmed by you, I felt as I declared “I love you” just after midnight.

When can we move in together?

Road trips and dinners and kindness and difficult conversations and so much hope, while we wrestled our demons – together, we wrestled. We got a dog and new jobs and shared one home and twisted our lives into a rough thread, like twine. I can still see our individual strands.

When should I propose?

My head hurts and I’m scared, but we fight about what it means to choose someone for life. What it looks like and how it works, and how we feel. Oh, so much talk about how we feel and how we keep hurting the other – not by some grievous behavior, but by the fear that we are standing still while other people and the city and the world and the universe keeps zooming somewhere better.

Why hasn’t she committed to me?

It’s hot outside and I sense some gulf between us, so I furiously cast nets and try to pull you back. Like gravity, if our orbits get too far, maybe they’ll just release and we’ll go flying back out into the open universe, chancing it alone. You pack a bag and drive away because you can’t shake that feeling that something just isn’t quite right.