All This Could Be Different

by Sarah Thankam Mathews

Lord, I confess I want the clarity of catastrophe but not the catastrophe. Like everyone else, I want a storm I can dance in. I want an excuse to change my life. —Franny Choi

I am trying, late in the evening, to say something about love, which for many of us is not separable from the other shit.

On my phone I read an article about how, in certain cultures, there are no separate words for the color green and the color blue, and if you showed someone a grass-hued paint swatch next to one the color of summer sky, they would say these were the same. Different shades of one thing.