Boi Tolo

@Ian Christensen

By Ian Christensen.

With each passing day my identity feels like a child on a raft drifting further and further out into the sea. Lost.

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want

The cold marble steps hugged me as I looked through the eyes of someone I can’t remember, or maybe never really knew?

Yeah, I think it is the latter.

Running – once with meaning – now with no direction but away from that which I can’t understand, because it scares me. 

I think it always scared me. 

But for a brief, albeit-in-the-moment-kind-of-complicated (but not really all that complicated) moment, that tight twisting and torrential wrenching ceased. 

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a basic scruff trying to be deep but hold your vomit for the end, please. 

It was a blue, shimmery, glowey, Oh So Groovy FLOODing out of all that funk. 

The first time I felt it was on the street. Frying eggs and sticky smelly human waste littered my world. 

Haha, but then a random face. Red floral shirt. Electric blue,  dazzling supernovas cradling dark brown, gentle eyes.

Lost again. But a good lost. A lost that felt so sweet, so safe, so secure. 

A look, two seconds, turn, approach, and a cute little jump. BEAUTIFUL.

But honey that was only the start. The icing on the cake, the one for the ages,  the one I’ll tell my own kids when they too feel they have lost themselves. 

Blue again, this time stoic Ludwig sky. Soft rain stinging skin cradled by the echoes of the birds far off in the tropical trees. 

I had to look again…it couldn’t be real. But every damn time I peaked my eyes open there he was in so much beauty. 

My heart flipped, I thought it fell out of my chest. I almost wanted it to, because the berating and screaming it was doing inside me was almost too much to bare.

That was a fall, but you know what really threw me off a mile-high cliff? 

A crowd. A big one. Purple lights and hot muggy air. Petite palm trees towering above.

And that song…that song from  an era long long past, from the beginning of my case of stolen identity. 

But he did it again. Jumped. And an unbearable tantrum of my heart. Then brown eyes, and then, wow, stay with me here: a Peace.

A Peace like You. Can’t. imagine. At least I never could have, until I felt it. 

I don’t know what my identity is. But for just a little while, it didn’t seem to matter. That raft, that big open sea…it wasn’t something to fear, it was something to explore, with Him. 

Now I wear the memory in painted bees and rosy weeds until our rafts collide again.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.