Punks in the Christmas Light

Fairytale of Not New York

Punks in the Christmas Light

By Eve Zennarrow

Now, I don’t smoke or anything,
it’s just when you offered me a cigarette,
I noticed it had my name on it,
so naturally, I felt obliged to take it.

You laughed when I started coughing,
with one of those oh-it’s-so-cute smirks
that can quickly disarm someone
as socially awkward as myself,
and give me the confidence to hold eye contact
for more than the usual millisecond.

[I’ll take any opportunity to keep
failing at normal human interaction
in the most refined way possible.]

It wasn’t easy for me to meet
your brilliance at eye level,
still your face kept lighting up
the way a text notification
lights up a dark room.

I felt seen, not judged.
It helped me open up.

You revealed yourself to have
the most important characteristic
anyone can hope to find in another human —
curiosity.

I let go of the helm
and let the current take me, carry me
away to wherever your voice was streaming.

I swear to God, when you quoted David Berman,
I died a small death — just a tiny one, the sexy one —
the one after which you come back
feeling more alive than ever.
Eros and Thanatos and all that jazz.

And the moment came after that.
You know it —
the one when you look at someone,
and you can see in their eyes,
in the softness of their mannerisms,
and hear in the warmth of their breath
that they like you.

I took that drug with a mouthful,
and I got high on that feeling.
Didn’t care if one can’t have it all —
all was the only way I wanted it.

I wish one could freeze these short bits
when they come,
when it’s undoubtedly clear to both
that you have found something
safe and familiar in one another,
and it’s as certain
as the sun coming up in the morning
that you desire each other —
but you still haven’t made a move or acted upon it.

A promise of tomorrow that is better
than you’ve ever imagined it,
because it’s real.

Some special people, in these special instances,
can make you feel that way.

I wonder if happiness is only achievable
in moments like these.
Does happiness live only in the then and there,
where we await for it to happen?
I don’t know.

All I know is that when we got up,
and you put your arm around me,
there was nowhere I would rather be than here and now,
in this particular moment in time.

Here, your love could be a perfect harmony
that dissolves me into a single shimmering chord,
or it could be my supervillain origin story.

One of those who-can-tell
and cat-in-a-box situations.
Let’s not open it till Christmas.