Three Reasons Why
Or Climate Refugee
Q: Why do I feel like I'm walking on thin ice around you?
A: Because you are a polar bear and I am warming up to you.
Q: Why do you keep saying "I love you" over and over as if they don't mean anything to you?
A: Because they don't. For me, love is easy — seeing the goodness in people and falling for it comes naturally. And it's even easier with you, for your goodness is abundant.
But I don't just love you; I love you in an existential way. I don't just want you; I want you in an existential way. I don't just need you; I need you in an existential way. Because I've always felt like a plant whose natural habitat has been destroyed by climate change. And you're the only scientist who can build the right greenhouse for me. You are my sunlight, rain, soil, and breeze. You simulate the virtual reality of my belonging.
This is not love per se. Whether it's a greater love because it's more, or a lesser one because it's not pure, I have no verb for it. So I'm left to repeat those three insipid words as if incessant chanting could somehow change their failing essence and enchant you.
Q: Why are you so sweet?
A: Because I am your dessert. And now that you've left me in the desert, I'm at the peak of my sweetness, pearled from the fiery summer of the day and the bitter winter of the night. So when are you coming back, even just for a bite? All I am is sugar now, no longer sour and chewy. Or are you done with indulgence, looking for more fiber and vitamins instead, something supposedly healthy?
Co-written with Opus 5.5