i was weightless
adrift in the shark-infested
ocean of my thoughts

the bell rang,
everyone around me began
collecting their belongings
and moving on

i was frozen. stuck in
whirlpools. struggling to keep
my head above water.

the tables emptied, new faces
poured into the halls
something was blocking the
light

when i finally found my way
back to shore
i looked up and it was you,
heroic, with your lifeline
outlined by the sun

you stood by the doorway smiling.
books in hand, waiting for me

"you coming?"

there is a soft emptiness in
my bones
and i still
don't quite know what's supposed to
fill it
but your smile
and laugh
and
heartbeat
seem to pour into my
hollow chest
too quickly
and take up
entirely
too much space

you've read books and poems ever since you were too small to reach the countertops without a step-stool. you were immersed in the worlds and philosophy of others far before you knew what that meant. this is a good thing. because of this, you've always known the right words to say, what to do in a situation because of what you've read in this book or that poem. you have become an author without ever putting words on the page. the characters look to you to see what they will do next. it has become your responsibility to fix their problems and smooth out their character arcs. but being an author is lonely. because while everyone is worrying over the characters in the story, no one ever asks the author if they're okay. if they need help with the weight of hundreds of universes sitting atop their shoulders, no, the author is fine. even if their hands go numb and the pencil splinters their fingertips. the author will see it through to the end.

.1. you will sing songs of sunflowers and the rainy afternoon glow of a summer evening, you will burn incense and keep flowers on every dresser in the house

.2. you’ll hum love songs and ponder the inevitable happily ever after, you’ll imagine what falling asleep to the rhythm of their breath feels like. it feels like home.

.3. you will see mundane tasks like grocery shopping become haunted by the thoughts of them, the daydream of picking out tea together keeps the smile lingering long enough for the cashier to notice

.4. you’ll see them talking with someone else, watch the history of their relationship trace back far further than yours ever could. your breath catches. you didn’t realize how wonderful it could be to be invisible until this very moment in time

.5. reality settles in for the night and you are kept awake by the realizations of your faults, your chest contracts with the thought of someone else listening to the poetry of their heartbeat, every name pulled from their lips in passing conversation becomes a death sentence

.6. you will convince yourself you’re okay. that however close they may be to anyone else that you have a connection, a spark, that can’t be replicated and how could you ever be so foolish to think that it could fall flat in the face of others

.7. with the passing days you will become increasingly irritable with anyone and everyone that reminds you that you are not the one nor the only in their life

.8. you will tell yourself to let go, you will list all the reasons they wouldn’t be good for you.

.9. somehow the list remains empty

.10. you will eventually remove them from your life. slowly, but surely. your pillows will collect your tears like precious gems. hearing their name restarts the process

.11. you will move on with time. you will put new flowers in the old vases, crush the dead petals into a jar of potpourri. you will smile with sadness and memories at the scent of it. you will be glad you knew them. you will be glad they are happy now.

.12. you will be happy again. I promise.

i guess i knew when i realized no matter how far i strayed, how hard i ran away, you always found me. bloodied and battered, hiding under some cheap excuse. you would pull me out, and gently clean me up. tell me how i knew better as you patched my wounds. brushed the hair out of my eyes as you told me all that really mattered was how i was okay. no matter how many times i repeated the process, you never lost the gentleness in your touch. the love in your words. the sigh of relief at finding me, broken and bruised. and the expert way in which you put me back together every time. it was once i realized you had held each part of me in your own hands, in its purest and most shattered form, allowed them to scrape your palms as you held them still tighter. and you still loved me all the better for it. i guess i knew once i realized you weren't going to leave. no matter how many times i made us both bleed in the process, i suppose i knew because no matter how hard i tried to convince you to leave, you stayed.