Can’t do without you

Can’t Do Without You — Caribou

I remember thinking:

This is it

This is it

It’s it.

It’s him.

High on MDMA in the middle of a festival. Dressed as Alice in wonderland and him, his version of the Cheshire Cat. The face paint slowly sweating down his face. I could taste both on his mouth as we kissed to Caribou, flying around a stage behind us.

Half my heart was there, choosing this moment with him over my desire to see Zhu in a side tent.

I loved it. Still, a moment that highlighted the dominos already stacked.

“We can’t choose Zhu over Caribou.”

No question. No compromise.

25-year-old-me, recently engaged after saying I’d never marry, smitten and in love, nodded.

I eyed the inflatable marriage chapel.

“Let’s just do it!” He looked at it too.

We wanted to. He did.

His obligations.

“We can’t.”

He never said “my mom” but I knew why.

I should’ve listened to the tugs that stated: “My needs, her needs, their needs, then you.”

Instead, I poured my heart into dancing with him. This was the happiness I could get. I believed it.

And then the music stopped.

—Bestival, Toronto island, 2015.