without my therapist telling me to do so
i realized that this whole “being sad
and borderline suicidal
and hopelessly in love” thing
was maybe
a bit unhealthy
and for two straight weeks
i watched nothing but cary grant movies
debonair men, fine suits, sharp women
repartee between lovers
these are songs for jumping off bridges to
songs for scaling dinosaur skeletons to
songs for killing men to
songs for singing’s sake
we hardly know each other
we’re just two people who met
and it struck me
watching arsenic and old lace
that falling in love
is a miraculous, random comet that anybody should be happy to have strike once in a lifetime
and mine struck for you
and really, isn’t that a wonderful thing, how
for three days, my heart spun
like being trapped on a merry-go-round
sticky caramel apple sickness
fainting delirious in the mud and the hay
fairground food kind of love
well, it took two weeks before i ran out
of cary grant movies
at night the pall came back, came back
that no wordplay can magic away
that no amount of pratfalls can solve
tell me that all you want is my hands cupping your face
brushing the raven hair out of your eyes
Clement Obropta (@TylerObropta) studies film at the University of St Andrews (having previously studied at Ithaca College) and edits culture pieces for MAYDAY magazine and photography for Wanderlust Journal. His work as been published by Film Inquiry, as well as Buzzsaw magazine, The Abstract Elephant, Mud Season Review, and Coffee People Zine.