It takes the perfect combination of random ingredients to lure me out of the museum and into the wild. I need an Adriane, someone who lives in the wild, thrives there. Someone who doesn’t just coax, but shows up on your doorstep with a purpose: Majeska Monday at the Up North, one of those places bestowed with the honor of filling our musical flutes with bubbles, especially in the darkest months. Crumb after crumb until the pines refill with magic dust vibrations.

Sometimes I like being close to the music, watch the hands orate to the instruments, the instruments talk back to the hands. When I need space to flap my wings, the back beckons. That’s where I found you.

I didn’t see you walk in, but I picked up your scent, sensed your vibe. Something fresh, something different, wildly new yet bizarrely familiar. 

Everything tingled under your gaze. Holy shit. The coolest cat in the room, purring at me. Who were you and how did I know you?

Me: Ca-caw.

You: I like the way you dance.

A compliment. My historians sussed out the primary motive for your extension. Pure, according to abstract calculations. 

Every instrument has it’s own move, you know? 

You knew. 

Your face. I’d seen that look before. Instant connection. Different worlds randomly visiting the same fairyland, bidirectional fascination with a deep appreciation buoyed by mutual respect. We’d met before, we’ll meet again. But who are you?

Later you’d tell me how after you first saw me you knew if we spoke, we’d set something in motion, indefinitely.

How do I know you? Do I know you? We cycled though past acute corners, wrong turns, dead ends. No detectable crossover.

Stardust memory.

The finale. I put my jacket on. Silent waves of apprehension radiated from your direction, a moment coming to an end. I was just chilly. You’ll never wonder how I feel.

I’m not going anywhere.

How could I know how those were the words.

Shapes and colors bled together, disappeared as we plugged into each other’s portals, galaxies colliding, sliding into the space made to fit. Finally floating in the same orbit. Edges chipped smooth, puncture wounds healed. You’re a whole entire person. And I’m oozing into all your empty spaces, filling in the gaps like Japanese art. You’re oozing into mine. Cosmic soup. We were already beautiful, the light just hits us different now. We fucking sparkle. 

I wanted to be near you and I wanted you to know that. You drew the board, I hopscotched up to meet you on the next block, asked for a ride to my museum, free admission if you’re interested in seeing my masterpiece. Of course you were. 

Ever feel like you’ve been preparing your whole life for something? It all makes so much sense now, the order of the chaos. A piece of everything remarkable I’ve ever experienced, witnessed, desired. A culmination of all that is good, real and right.

Those first 24 hours etched the walls of my existence with intimacy I’ve never known. Intertwined, soaking up the vibrations, we didn’t even kiss, oscillating between bouts of acute storytelling and awed speechlessness. Entirely present, perfectly aware and in sublime wonder of Timing. The elusive fantastical beast. The master plan. What it took to get me there, what it took to get you to the exact same there. 

There’s this French kitchen saying, mise en place, meaning everything in its place. The idea of prepping in such a way that when the time comes, you’re ready. For every step. You exist and I am real and this is not a dream. We manifested this shit. 

Mise en place. 
Everything is in place.
Now, we can begin.
❤