Tinder Bio

Christina Irmen

Looking for someone to share a house, so that we can plant lilac trees in front of the porch. I want our lives to be shielded by blue and purple hues, and when we open the windows we’ll pass out from their fragrance. I’ll prune the trees and bring in bouquets to clutter the whole house. You’ll notice, you won’t say anything until one day when you’re brushing your teeth you knock that little blue and white vase over with your rounded elbow. I’ll gasp and you’ll curse, I’ve never heard you curse before, and then I’ll cry because I can smell the lilacs and the toothpaste on your breath. And as you clean up, I’ll walk away and laugh to myself about the vase. We’ll open a bottle of wine so that we can use it to put the wilting lilacs in. And I’ll cook us dinner. I always cook us dinner. The pasta is al dente, but I forgot you don’t like whole basil. You don’t like basil, don’t you? You finish the wine, and I put the flowers in the vase. Let’s have a baby, I say. You say, if you’re ready. But we can’t have a baby can we? I stand frozen, unsure, and you go for a walk leaving me watching from the porch. You melt into shadow, from a blue in the distance to an obsidian and I wonder if I’m a problem. Maybe I’m too much for this small house. I pluck petals from the blooms in front of me. I don’t see you come back because I’m buried in petals. You’re holding a baby book and you say it’s ok and put the book on the coffee table in our bedroom. I flip through the book. We flip through. We have no baby, but I still look at the book. I wonder if the house is too blue but you make it bright, I suppose. I cook you dinner and we think about children but all I do is look at the wine bottle wondering if I can shear off more lilacs. I forgot about the basil again. Damn you! You knock over the wine bottle. It’s empty now.
The house is empty.
I’m just looking for someone to plant lilac trees in front of our house.