I get phone calls from a dear friend of mine and the conversations all sound alike. I know the tone in her voice when she has got questions. Our relationship for the most part has always existed like this, her asking and my answering, for years now. I like feeling needed. We talk a lot about life in a vaguely specific way, talk like we’ve been through a lot, talk like there is still a lot to go through.
I like to drink coffee at the white kitchen table downstairs because the sun comes through the large window and warms my back even in the winter months, and I can watch my roommates come and go. One of them sits down next to me and talks about a podcast she just listened to. She says, it was all about knowing when to leave the table once love is no longer being served.
I hear myself repeat this phrase, knowing when to leave the table, on the phone to my friend a few states away. It makes sense to her situation, and I pretend the idea is mine, and I don’t even realize I’ve done it until a few hours later.
We talk a lot about love, all of us, all the time. I talk about it in class and with friends and over drinks and sometimes with complete strangers. I make the young man sitting next to me on the airplane tell me his thoughts on the subject and he confesses he just cheated on his girlfriend during spring break. He looks ashamed and we both a order diet coke from the stewardess.
An article on the Huffington Post keeps on popping up on my Facebook page because friends and friends of friends keep on tagging me, because it must in someway pertain to me. The article is titled, Seven Questions to Keep You Curious. Number four is, What is Love?
Before we are asked to turn off our computers for landing I read the headings of every number on the list to the boy next to me. I think it’s going to make him feel better but I can tell it has made everything worse and I apologize twice before the plane lands.
I hear myself saying a lot of things lately.