Whitney Wilson
A Prose about My Boyfriend Who I Think Is Hot The distance between us feels the farthest when I remember all the ways we don’t match, like two remaining socks found at the bottom of a dryer brought together by fate. Like how I have constant migraines piercing my skull and you can’t even imagine having a headache. Like how I describe my music taste to be alternativehip-hop-rock-folk and you are strictly Beach Boys. Like how I wake up mad at you over something you did in a dream and you have never been mad at me for a second in a conscious state, let alone a dream. Like how I started buying your Christmas presents at the end of September and how in March you were still claiming that mine were on the way. Like how fishing is your favorite hobby and how I’d rather be the worm on the end of the hook waiting to be devoured than to wait hours for a tug at a string. Like how you like your coffee black and I prefer an iced chai tea latte, two pumps of espresso, with pumpkin sweet cream. Like how you couldn’t care less about what others thought, and I couldn’t care more. Like how I can’t stand going to sleep without my retainer and you haven’t touched yours in years. Like how you play the Devil’s advocate any chance you can, even against proven facts. I could say the sun is a star and you’d argue it's a light bulb attached to a string. Like how you see everything in black and white and I see everything in neon. Like how you never forget our anniversary but I can’t remember it to save my life. Like how you’re a mountain, unmoving, and I’m a wave that’s constantly shifting. But when I’m with you none of this matters. I’d give up Hobo Johnson, Adele, and Cage the Elephant for you, forever playing Beach Boys on repeat. I’d become accustomed to black coffee and care less about people's opinions. I’d drive, run, or walk from Indy to Nashville a hundred thousand times. I’d even go fishing, and that’s saying a lot.
This was based on my favorite poem, “Mountain Dew Commercial Disguised as a Love Poem” by Matthew Olzmann. When I wrote this, my boyfriend and I were attempting long distance for about seven months and were very much in love, managing to make things work. We broke up during the pandemic in May when I realized “managing to work” was not the same as love. He never read the poem, and I never received my Christmas presents.
fall 2020
UIndy
85
