12 Emoji’s In A Trench Coat

“She’s 12 emoji’s in a trench coat”

That’s how I would describe her, but how would I describe her to my mother? Probably the same way but I’d have to explain how emoji’s can be used as representative outside of just texting in this new social structure of people who grew up with technology.

I had to explain the definition of a “meme” to my Dad the other day.

Anyway…

This is not a Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks/Billy Crystal/Debra Winger movie.

This is messages on Instagram, shared interests slowly discovered via posts we don’t tag each other in, and posts that I don’t post because she just posted something almost identical and I don’t want to seem like a creep. This is 12 emoji’s in a trench coat and as the coat slowly unbuttons it’s like looking in a mirror and I’m curious what the baggage is in all the pockets of this coat and if she carries it like I do.

“Oh you keep the trauma of being cheated on in your outside left-hand pocket so it’s always in reach? I keep mine on the inside breast pocket so it can always stab me in the heart randomly throughout the day.”

“I like how you keep your emotional support addiction in the top of your Doc Martins, I usually tuck mine behind my ear like a pencil.”

This will not end with a kiss on the top of the Empire State Building on New Years Eve to the sweeping melodies of an orchestra.

The credits won’t roll beside a collection of bloopers from the film or snapshots from the set.

This whole story IS the bloopers, and as I run to the store quick to get film packs for my polaroid, I take a deep breath of the Autumn air. The past few months has been my season of shorts, tees, sneakers, trips to the barber shop and leaning real hard on my mustache while I navigated my sexuality and my relationships and my life in general.

But it’s fall now. I know better of who I am and as the leaves change so do I, morphing into what makes me comfortable through a winter. My beard is longer now, my clothes are more rural and my taste in food is like a cabin in the woods. The next time my barber sees me will be 2022 and the next time I see her…..well…..that’s the thing.

See who? When? Next time? There hasn’t even been a first time, get out of your head. Or stay there. Keep it in your head. Sit with it. Stew it. Boil it. What are you thinking?

I’m Sleepless but who is she? Where did she come from that suddenly I’m swept up in a current of emotions that I don’t suppress because these days I know better. This is a wave I’ll ride out and see how it goes, probably to nowhere but who knows, and who cares.

The tide will take me where it will and when it happens and when it’s over I’ll be just as satisfied with life as I was before, having had experienced these things, having been blessed with a presence for as long and as deep as is naturally occurring.

I’m on the boat. The river is below me. The tide is what it is, an oar in my hands and sometimes I use it and sometimes I don’t, and who am I? I’m just a bundle of energy floating through the universe from one experience to another trying to find my place in existence, and she……..

She’s 12 Emoji’s in a trench coat.

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