we are all going to fall in love more than thousands of times in this lifetime. we are all capable of it. the first boy i loved did not know my name. but i loved him simple - in the same way i used to love mangoes and sugarcanes on my tongue. there was nothing rough about this — i did not force my love into his hands and he did not take it away from me, but he laid down continents inside my hands — and they burned against the lines of my palms. there were galaxies forming in between the gaps of all my fingers — stars pouring out like coffee beans from my grandmother’s woven baskets. there is potential there, balled up inside my fists and i want to shake it to the skies or maybe shake open a few hearts with it. this is how i remember love — as dirt and oceans and mud laid out inside my palms. and it grows— and then it stops and grows and stops and goes like everything else in the same way that water flows.
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