I offer you my fear. It’s sweet and sharp; it tastes of mandarin sorbet. It makes you smile sadly and think of four people you haven’t spoken with in far too long. It perches over my heart in a cuckoo clock. It is very tightly folded. You may have my fear.
I offer you my comforts. They are warm and soft; they feel like your dad’s robe. They smell like pineapple juice. They are always set on sunny afternoons with a cool breeze. They do not understand or believe in the passage of time. You may have my comforts.
I offer you my ambition. It’s the golden ball the princess lost down the well. It hides; it likes to make friends. It’s too simple and friendly. It moves in your hand like a bath oil bubble, slightly yielding. It smells of jasmine. You may have my ambition.
I offer you my talents. They are a thousand tiny fish that nibble away at the old skin. They are morally neutral. You may have my talents.
I offer you my flaws. They are brittle and sharp, smoked coffee toffee. There are bubbles caught in them, on which they feed. They make formidable armour, if you like that kind of thing. They want to be your friend. They want to be worshipped. You may have my flaws.
I offer you my time. I wasn’t really using it, anyway. You may have my time.
I offer you my self-consciousness. It is a driving sledgehammer with an apologetic smile painted on its head. It picks its nose when no-one is looking. It moves silently. It wears skirts that cover its knees. You may have my self-consciousness.
I offer you my laziness. It’s the garden hose, warm and snakey in the sun. It firmly knows it’s immortal. It has the most glorious smile and the most impressive bag of tricks. It is also the most afraid. You may have my laziness.
I offer you my truth. It can be held in your hands. It is a long twine trailing out from my belly. It is merciless but mostly kind; it smells like the air in high forests. It is trying hard to learn patience. You may have my truth.
All I ask for is the change to succeed and to fail.
All I ask for is humility and stubbornness.
All I ask for is now.
I shall worship you every day. I shall create rituals in your name. I shall embrace discomfort.
I will dance with the tensions. I will embrace the tensions. I will examine the tensions.
You can’t have all of me. Not yet.
And so we begin.