pockets of 'corn

for my lover girls, happy autumn equinox.

It's raining outside.

I watch cars pass by in reds, greys and silvers, the autumn leaves a sludge on the ground outside, feeling your hand in mine listening to you order overpriced tea. Right now, it’s sensory overload and to stop from being at my worst, stillness is all I can hold within me. So I disengage and focus on the squirrel outside scurrying across the sludge of leaves outside acorns in hand. Your thumb brushes the skin that connects my index finger to my thumb, moving from the warmth and overwhelm I feel deep in my chest, heart swelling more than I’d ever want it to, I meet your gaze, your ‘brows quietly questioning as I ask you why you pay £3.50 for flavoured water we could’ve just made at yours. I watch your ‘brows unfurl, your eyes doing that thing where they dance as humour fills them, embarrassing me whilst also filling me with pride that my blunt questions can bring you joy when I feel disconnected from myself.

I can still feel your thumb grazing that same area as you tell me

life is filled with little luxuries, and sometimes the warmth or disdain of someone else making a cup of tea for you is magic. My ‘brows frown as you continue yapping about love being held in our connection with others, that every single thing we do is intentional whether we believe it so or not. I watch your mouth move, passion filled across your face as you willingly volunteer information I never asked you for: that to you, our love is held in, feels like, a cup of tea on a cold winter’s day. Loose leaf chamomile, rose buds, and peppermint – easy to digest, essential but not necessary for joy, and sometimes it’s Lapsang, because smoky tea is an acquired taste, but it’s smell alone is enough to keep drawing you back to feeling like a smoker without the effects of smoking, and sometimes it’s English breakfast because it’s consistent, stable and feels like home. I still don’t understand where you’re going with this, seeing that, you simply tell me you love me and you love tea. Cut out midsentence by the barista yelling your name,

I let go of your hand and grab our drinks,

you take yours from me, and as caramel flavoured froth intertwined with deep roasted coffee fills my mouth, I smile. That deep warm knot, that feeling of overwhelm and warmth engulfs me knowing that you’d memorised one of my orders. Before I can process the thought,

your hand envelopes mine again

as we walk through the rain into the cinema next door to the coffee house. I order a popcorn at the stalls and listen to you lecture me about sugar-filled popcorn and not wanting to hear me complain about ‘corn getting stuck in my teeth during the film. I’m a ‘let’s process the film together right now, in the present’, which I know peeves you considering you’re the complete opposite and will not shut up for days whilst you digest what you just saw. Rolling my eyes I reach to grab my ‘corn,

your hand gets there first,

and I’m unsure how to hold feeling held even when you don’t agree with my decisions. Not that I care much, I’d spent enough time living my life in full. Small moments of chosen and intentional isolation, staying in and writing my heart out whilst declining calls because sometimes, often times, my solitude is my ivory tower, my friends, my people only having access. My home, embedded within myself, created in community with others; in cinemas alone hand in popcorn buried in a film seeing lovers holding hands at the corner of my eye, heart melting, more warmth, less overwhelm at the time; gabbing over the latest book I’ve read with a friend, us venturing into worlds we wish we could dive into away from this sordid one; making tea at 10pm so I can knit my best friend’s birthday gift 5 months in advance; communing over brunch with friends I hadn’t seen in months yet our lives still felt so intertwined like barely any time had passed between us. With you now, I watch you frown at me knowing that to be loved is to be seen, because that specific frown means you want me in close proximity to you, even though your hands are occupied by your love and my love, you want more. I loop my arm arounds yours, pleasure hugging me as I watch the frown dissipate realising that this is maybe what you meant about little luxuries,

home, in small pockets.