text: I have been seeing different people to hold my mind and body together while my boyfriend in LA finishes the first round of funding for his start-up. Sometimes I will see one of my lovers the same day he arrives. He is too aloof to know, care, or even be curious about my life. My lovers are ponds, deep and shallow, that I dip my toes into and see the wobbly edges of myself. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I let all my energy be sucked into their orbits. I am a flexible human, and I could be great at many things, so it’s tempting to squish myself into new molds. One lover is a doctor. He is kind, and good with his hands. Sometimes he is bumbling, but always in a good-hearted way. We were not meant to be partners, but we were born to be lovers. We inadvertently cultivated a very healthy romantic relationship, and I dream of worlds where we live together and have a family. He doesn’t want children and neither do I. The childrens’ names would be August and Iroh. We sit on his deck and drink coffee in the morning waiting for the birds to come down and beg for walnuts. It smells like summer, and I push thoughts of work and stress out of my head. He knows though. He knows everything. He knows what it is like to do what I am doing and can give some degree of advice that I trust. He is a comfort. I’m afraid to spend too much time with him and shatter the delicate joy. There is a world where We Try. But the stakes are so high. But I am so young. But I don’t want to lose him to another version of ourselves. One lover is an inventor. His apartment is full of all kinds of things, and he knows how most of them work, kind of. He has a motorcycle I helped drive back to his house because he didn’t have a permit. He has an orange tree that I have drank the juice from so many times on hot summer afternoons. He and I exist outside of time. Sitting on his couch. Creeping closer together until he grabs my face in his hands and kisses me, our lips still dry from talking for hours about things that might be interesting or might just be a way for our brains to have sex while our bodies question if this is a dream or reality. One lover is a boy. He had long hair once, and plays in a band. He is up to no good a lot of the time, but loves the people close to him. He might be a sociopath, or we might be compatible. If I were a little girl and I met him, I think we would be divorced by now. He has fiercely strong emotions, and so do I. We both need a little tempering. We are not meant to be partners. But what if we were.