• tatum van dam

(someone, anyone, please) make it make sense


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to introduce yourself to me and ask about the things I thought no one cared to hear about from me? Like, you asked me about the entire process of baking donuts. Who is genuinely curious to know about the entire process of baking donuts -- from the dough, to the multiple proofs, to the deep frying? How are you going to give me your phone number, and continue to text me, knowing that you don’t normally text anyone so consistently? You even turned your texts off “auto-delete” just to save our conversations. How are you going to reveal yourself as my parallel being -- which was eventually revealed as my twin flame -- and reiterate that the connection between us is unlike anyone else you’ve ever connected with?


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to talk to me every day for five months? And I don’t just mean asking how my day was. We talked about anything and everything conceivable, yet somehow never ran out of topics to discuss. From dusk to dawn, talking about our days and our dreams and our doubts and our desires. How are you going to send a goodnight text to me every night for five months? Not just a goodnight text, but a goodnight paragraph. Every night, for five months.


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to create hypotheticals with me? You know what I’m talking about. Hypothetical day trips, hypothetical international adventures, a hypothetical wall, even a hypothetical life. Discussing how we exist in our own little world apart from the unfortunate realities occurring in the real one right now. Akin with our own little language and all those other little idiosyncrasies.


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to write and send me handwritten letters? Two page long letters, with little hand drawn hearts. Even stickers. Nearly every day. How are you going to tell your parents about me? Your best friends about me? Your siblings about me? How are you going to admit your excitement about me to the people who you care about the most?

Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to kiss me not even a week after re-meeting me, because we both knew that it was just right? How are you going to tell me that this was going to turn into something more, and that you like the idea of being with me? How are you going to kiss me and hug me and hold me as if I am your own? Not only me being yours, but us being each other’s. How are you going to kiss me goodbye every time we part ways and tell me you miss holding me when we are apart?


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to do all the little things that show me you care? Get me little gifts, whether they are tangible objects or random acts of kindness or delightful words of affirmation. How are you going to let me do the same for you? How are you going to make me feel like, finally, I matter?


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to tell me I deserve the most, and give me the love I think I deserve? We have consistently reminded each other that we deserve the most, and both of us were under the impression that the “most” was each other. How are you going to spend entire days with me, doing all the things we have dreamed of doing? You know, all the things on that long list we created? Exploring new places, doing things out of our comfort zone, and simply finding “home” in each other’s presence.


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to encourage me to do the things that bring me joy? I hadn’t started doing those things again until you brought them out of me. How are you going to enable me in the best way possible, and let me reciprocate? The other week you said you are happy that I am writing again, but I didn’t expect my next piece to be a poem about you -- and not the kind that is about love.


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to tell me that you need to focus on yourself after doing exactly that for once? How are you going to make me care, then walk away from it all? You don’t get to do that. You shouldn’t be allowed to do that. No one should be.


Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.


How are you going to invalidate my feelings and cause me to feel overwhelming amounts of hopelessness and despair and anxiety? Seriously, I’m listening to Lorde at 3AM and writing a hypothetical letter to stop shaking and spew my discombobulated thoughts onto paper. How are you going to make me feel as if I finally was receiving what multiple failed relationships had led up to, only to reject the idea of what could have been?


Why me, why us, and why now?

Someone, anyone, please, make it make sense.



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