I miss all my exes

a lyrical poem after Jamila Woods, + thoughts on Linklater's Before trilogy and polyamory

I miss all my exes
who do my laundry
cut the onions to spare me the tears
make me playlists, air fry broccoli with spices, triple the garlic
who build effect pedal circuits, rub my feet, scratch my back
who remind me to eat full meals, who make me full meals
brush teeth with me, shower with me
grind fresh beans for my pour over in the mornings
who smell like selsun blue, coffee, secret cigarettes, sweat
who bring me daffodils and sage
who fly to a foreign country to meet my grandma
who play fetch with my parents' dog
who drive me to the airport, who pick me up
who eat vegetarian dishes with me, split two meals at every restaurant
who go on long walks with me, who send me voice memos and handwritten letters
watch with me, who cuddle naked in bed, binge sopranos or A24 films with me
tell me I'm enough, let me lay on their chest, kiss me at red lights
drive with one hand, drive me to abandoned buildings
drive me to the brazilian bakery, who can't understand what I say about the stars
but listen anyway
who can't understand the language I speak, but try anyway
who have softer skin than mine, who don't
who play bass, who write poetry that breaks my heart
who have messy cars and rooms
who read next to me, who care too deeply
who drink too often, who treat sick patients
who let me take film photos of them
why I still cherish the photos lovingly
why I always stay longer than I should
I never left any one of them, not really
I just went somewhere new

the lyrics on the gorgeous, poetic new Jamila Woods album, Water Made Us, feel like they were begging to be used as writing prompts. I am especially drawn to “I Miss All My Exes,” a spoken-word poem recited atop beautiful instrumentals by Gia Margaret. the lyrics, which I have tried to produce my own version of, honor the specificity of each romantic experience and the myriad ways our past lovers cared for us. It feels like a more mature version of another track close to my heart, the Prettiots’ Boys (I Dated In Highschool). this sweetly comical song also honors the details of past relationships. the amusing, twee lyrics offer more empathy than judgment while laughing at the ways we settled for people with obvious flaws when we don’t know any better.

~

I recently rewatched Linklater’s Before Sunset on a date with a person I’ve been seeing who is poly, in the home they share with their primary partner. despite trying to be fully present, I couldn’t help but internally recall the experience of rewatching the Before trilogy in the early days of another relationship with someone else to whom these films were new. I could envision exactly how we were lying in my ex’s bed and the feeling of trying to hide my disappointment at his lukewarm reaction to the films. I woke from my nostalgic visitation, relieved to discover that my current watching companion loved Before Sunset as enthusiastically as I always have.

on each rewatch, I resonate most strongly with different parts of the dialogue-heavy script. this time, I was struck anew by a monologue Céline (Julie Delpy’s brilliant character) delivers on past relationships:

“I feel I was never able to forget anyone I’ve been with. Because each person have… their own specific qualities. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost.

Each relationship when it ends really damages me; I never fully recover... I will miss of the person the most mundane things. Like I’m obsessed with little things.

Maybe I’m crazy, but… when I was a little girl, my mom told me that I was always late to school. One day she followed me to see why. I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees rolling on the sidewalk or… ants crossing the road… the way a leaf casts a shadow on a tree trunk… little things. I think it’s the same with people. I see in them little details so specific to each of them that move me and that I miss, and… will always miss. You can never replace anyone, because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details.”

my relationship with the ex who was not charmed by these films collapsed due to his insistence on an intensely monogamous, co-dependent dynamic that was at odds with the way I naturally love people. in the years since then, I can fully own that my most authentic expression of intimate care embraces how “everyone is made of such beautiful specific details” and doesn’t require me to entirely leave past love behind to go somewhere new. I finally permit myself to keep loving everyone I have ever loved without forcing forgetfulness.

snapshot of an iconic Before Sunset monologue by Céline (Julie Delpy)

~

while writing this essay, I wanted to know more about Jamila Woods and the making of Water Made Us— specifically, I wanted to understand why her art resonates with me so strongly. in an article by Paste Magazine, Woods shares how, like me, she draws from memory and nostalgia as the material for her art, and how she carries the lens of poetry into every form of art she creates. in describing the making of her album, she talks of “the fluidity of tenderness” and how to “help expel it from the confines of singularity.” she shares her intention for the album to not “feel like it’s only a romantic, one partner-type of love.” finally, I find what I have been looking for, an indication that I am not merely projecting. the article quotes her as saying, “there’s all these loves that support me. I’m thinking a lot about hierarchy and poly theory, because I’ve always had really deep, intimate friendships and I also have beautiful relationships with my siblings and my elders. I wanted to include those lines of support, too.”

I learned through this article that Woods is from the city I live in and that she experiences ghostly memories here the way I do after having visited with past lovers before knowing I would live here myself. Woods describes how she imagines Toni Morrison’s idea of ‘re-memory,’ as the existence of “these memories hanging in the air in a place” and of how “you walk through them or you’re in it,” adding that “that’s how it feels in certain parts of Chicago, remembering certain relationships.” reflecting on “I Miss All My Exes,” she speaks of a journey I am also on, toward accepting the hauntings of past partners that live in your head, finding peace with it, and “appreciating the presence.”

~

yesterday, I bought Water Made Us on vinyl at my local record store and listened to it before biking over to the shore of Lake Michigan with a friend. we sat together on the iconic concrete steps, captivated by the choppy waves and the deep blues, sharing our adoration for this immense sweetwater sea that hugs the coastline of our city. in retrospect, it feels obvious that this album I cherish, with its watery motifs and poly view of love, is partially an ode to the very same section of the very same beloved body of water.

cover art for Jamila Woods’ Water Made Us