syncing
What have I imagined most? Some One standing in the kitchen.
I notice Some One standing in the kitchen, a step or two away from the edge of the island’s Midnight Black slate countertop, tangentially across from the stainless steel sink. I admire his side profile - his silhouette has changed over the years. His neck cranes downwards, towards his phone. The glow sets my face alight from across the room. Some One’s briefs slightly peek out from the waistband of his dark-fade jeans. He has a black t-shirt on, but I’ve been more present with what’s happening below his belt-loops than anything else, really.
Some One
I look down, the slight bulge at [fuck, remind me to ask where the bulge goes] underneath the zipper of my jeans (?) in my jeans (?) below the button (?) catching my eye. Let’s be real, it’s all I can think about. All I can feel. Fucking ecstatic. All I can do is smirk. Just happy to be here.
As I write this, I realize that maybe it’s not always a packer and maybe it’s not always a binder - maybe, Some One gets top surgery and bottom surgery.
But, right now, most importantly, maybe what I see Some One holding isn’t a glowing phone.
I picture a glow stick. There’s something about how it cracks to emit light. Like breaking isn’t the end; it’s just making space for Some One Else me to glow.