I still think about that boy sometimes
in the same way that someone who breaks their kneecap
gets a ***** put in it to hold their bones together
but they are only reminded of it
when they are at the airport and they
have to walk through a metal detector
-

I used to like when he hugged me outside my car for
four minutes, how he wouldn't let me leave even if it
was cold outside and i was only wearing flip-flips, always
after our lips were red and chafed and my hair was a god-awful
mess on my head,

I used to like it when he listened to odd future, when he complained
about how ugly he was when I knew he was beautiful, how he was
worried that I would care that his skin was rough, that his skin was rough
that his skin was rough, but I loved his textures, his angles, his curves, never
smooth, never flat skin.

I used to like his baby cheeks and defined jawlines, how nothing ever mixed
with him, but he was milk and paint and oil. Baked potatoes with broccoli and
thyme, rosemary cloves.

I can't point out where all these things ended.

When I started to complain when he held me for too long in front of the door because
I told him he couldn't hold me in front of the car anymore. It was too cold.
When did my lips starting staying pink instead of red, when did
my hair start staying perfect, when was the last time I had held his hand
without being afraid of some boring, ridiculous reason, when was the last
time I laid in bed with him when was the last time I thought that he was the
best thing to ever happen to me, where do these thoughts go?

Overthinked, thanked, thunked? Did I wear beyond use, does my love have
an expiration date?

(when icarus fell
did he have time
to cry out?  or did
he fall without
warning or grace?)

he tells me he is reaching
his breaking point
(and) he sighs,
(and) he looks away,
(and) i want to reach out to him
to touch his hand, shoulder,
knee

but i am afraid he will
shatter

this is to be read with she or he in front of every sentence, respectively*

she
rose up from the crooked stacks of books lining the shelves.
dusted her jeans.
glanced at the wooden floor.
made a note of the intricate workings.

he
slid his glasses higher up his nose.
looked over the balcony.
twisted the pen in his hand.
sighed deeply.
wondered.
waited.

she
grabbed her bag.
aligned the scattered thoughts towards the door.
left a trail of vanilla behind.
didn't stop to look back.

he
watched the life over the edge of the height.
lingered over a few, passed over many.
made up lives and people in his head.
wished they were having a better day than him.
waited.
wondered.

she
walked ahead of everyone else.
didn't stop to look in the windows of the welcoming shops.
didn't stop at the scent of roses from the flower shop she passed.
almost retched as it reached her nose.
was hidden amongst the bustle of a million.
didn't stop to look back.

he
felt it again.
tried to ignore it.
felt the trial and error.
tried to do what his therapist tried telling him.
climbed over the wall, separating him from the people and gravity.
debated what he needed.
waited.
wondered.

she
felt the sun on the back of her neck.
felt her mind automatically go to his hand resting there.
pinched herself.
encased herself with blank walls.
stretched on blankets of white paper.
willed herself to focus on her way home.
debated.
deleted.
doubted.

he
found all that was left on his tongue was a name.
wanted to know that name.
wanted to savour that name.
wanted to wrap himself inside that name.
wanted to pour himself into it.
wanted parts of him to evaporate and curl upwards.
wanted nothing but to let himself loose.
was tired of waiting.
was tired of wondering.

she
let her head drag her home.
let her mind stay focused on the forgetting.
carefully fingered through each memory and set it on fire.
felt herself burn, inside and out.
let herself fall gently, like ash in air.
reeled backwards.
was surprised at the contact of the door on her stiff back.
made a note to burn all her notes.

he
found a way back to home while still seated on the metal rods jammed into the ground.
found his peace in a name.
found every touch in the whispers of a wind.
found what he was wondering.
found what he was waiting for.
let it run through him like an old song after a few years.
let it burn.
let it burn him to pieces.

she
never knew the difference between let leave and let go.
never knew what to expect of a set heart.
had never known just how much her factual heart could collide with his guitar-string soul.
never ever knew.

he
lingered on the edge of the end.

she
remembered all her forgotten forevers.

he
thought how a morning walk could lead to an event that would probably be on the morning papers by tomorrow.

she
let her regrets flow through her like the blood in her veins.

he
went over the head tail head tail head tail.

she
fell back to the does he knows

he
fell back to the will she even cares

she
wanted to run to him.

he
wanted her.

she
was too quiet.

he
thought too loud.

she
wondered.
waited.

he
stopped wondering.
stopped waiting.