written April 2024
On Aliens
A long time ago I thought I was in love. I know now that that was fleeting and cannot outshine any better love I have now, but at the time I thought it was the biggest horizon I'd ever be blessed to see.
I'd asked them if they believe in aliens. They thought for a few moments and then answered "I don't know.. I don't need to know.. I just hope if they exist or not, that they're happy."
Dear reader, I can't say if you've ever been in the throes of a crush, promised sex and love but only given platitudes, but it is a hell of a drug. I immediately pictured myself years from then, speaking in front of a room of wedding attendees. The guests would all be my relatives, of course, and our mutual friends. None of their family would be there because their family didn't like me. That was alright in my imagination, as I was saving my lover by sharing my family members to fill the seats.
-- I would turn to face the crowd instead of my lover, instead of the priest, or turning my face to a god, I would instead look out at our captive audience. I would start with "I first knew I loved X when I asked them if they believe in aliens," The crowd would laugh. I would dramatically become teary eyed, "they said it doesn't matter to them if aliens exist, they just said they hope they're happy." My partner would look confused but the crowd would be awwwing at my luck at having found the most empathetic fish in the entire sea. After that I would continue on to wax poetic to the crowd, drunk on the spotlight. I mean, I'm clearly a terrible person for not considering if the aliens are happy, but look at this person here who cares about every living creature, even the snakes and the bees. I knew love when I heard their hopes. Listen to me going on about it. I know now why the great writers rambled on for pages.
In this fantasy, I don't know if I was imagining being able to brag about winning at the great gay rat race or simply picturing being confident for once. Looking back, I think it was both and I just didn't recognise it. I've always had a great anxiety about the altar.
I still think you can tell a lot about that ex-lover based on their answer, and I sometimes consider stealing the sentiment when I am asked if I believe in the unseen. I still want to be perceived as that kind. I don't like being shown up.
I understand now that love is not monologuing or picking apart. But I was grateful for that moment anyway. It shifted everything I saw; I don't need to know what that small love was or where it would have gone if I can just hope to god that they're happy.
The year before that I also thought I had love. That love was rife with skepticism, showed to me by a man who promised he had great care for everyone in the world, and wanted to shepherd all people into a safehaven. It was shortlived, but I fell hard for it and made too many concessions. But I love my younger self. My younger self took risks to learn how to recognise people with too many hopes and dreams and not enough action. My younger self learned that people can turn their love for dogma against you. My younger self taught me what love is.