Providing no context, I say—
“I think I can do this…
“I think we can do this.”
I always took pride in my independent nature.
I scoffed at the members of couples—
“halves” I derisively named them.
Repulsed by the concept of possession,
I asserted I could never be “had.”
I strictly performed this solitary identity;
I called myself an “individual.”
But, now, you ask me
to commit myself to you—
you, Mr. Six-Hours-Away.
if I renounce my principles,
would it really be me
that you’re with?
I know that you’re right,
that casual sex is meaningless,
fills me with hollow substance.
The muscles in my jaw tighten;
I cringe as you suggest that
I “want to keep my options open.”
I know, in the end, I want nobody but you.
I’ve felt so different
over the spans of time I spent with you.
And, maybe, in some ways
I am someone new.
We have grown together.
Intimate, we intertwined ourselves.
Maybe this closeness can overcome
our current physical distance.
Now, I’m not afraid to commit.
I think we can do this.