the day I see you again and
my mind turns into a  screen scrolling through a seemingly never-ending list of words I've written about you
and my tectonic plates shift to reveal a gaping valley
between the peaks of What I Felt For You and
How Ordinary You Are
and i'll feel an anticlimactic realization
and ill feel relieved
but also sad
and I will have nothing to write about anymore

he ****** you,
in/out
here/not
filled/hollow,
and his absence only further defined his presence
and you loved when he was in but
hated when he was out
but you loved it all because
in and out
were two parts of the same phenomenon

i like falling in love as much as i hate it,
i like losing balance and writhing on slippery slopes and bruising my knees and laughing at my panic
i like my pupils dilating and taking in blinding amounts of light
i like the rush of my heart sinking and rising
i like the great abandon with which i love
and how i'd skip French class
to explore the less verbal part of the culture,

i think i like being in love with you
more than i like you

you were further behind on the Path
and you stopped to stare at daisies and i tugged at your hand because
you were slowing me down
and i tried to tell you about more important things that lay ahead,
but you were so **** distracted by the flowers,
and i was hurting your wrist,
and you got sick of it and found someone who wouldn't rush you

i want to wake up from you like a skewed nightmare
and feel the familiar relief of reality
settling into place like a crisp white bed sheet onto a mattress,
and i want to shudder at the memory
and make coffee and
squint and try to remember you,
but blissfully fail,
and only remember you when i see grey snow
or feel a Northern wind find a patch of skin on the small of my back,
and i want to feel the warm barrier of reality protect me from
the delusion of you

i was so focused on the corpse of What I Thought We Were
until my eyes zoomed out to find
that i was walking through a cemetery
of things that Used to Be,
and instantly found it silly to focus on one unmarked grave when there were so many others
that had nothing to do with love or ***,
nothing to do with you --
older, more elaborate graves
that i mourned from the dawn of my life to now,
more important deaths.

I remember the setting Carolina sun,
Fluorescent fuchsia medallion  
Sitting on the landing strips at RDU, like an observant child
Making sense of our tamed world,
And counting the aluminum birds as they flee to altitudes that
Offer an illusion of freedom.

Fast forward an hour,
Zoom in on seat F, in row 18 on an ascending Boeing 747,
Almost perpendicular to Earth
And my thighs are clenched instinctively, the nervous muscle quivering,
Trying to make its own rhythm against the quaking of the craft.
Irrational fears are countered by irrational ticks.
Will you falter o’ mighty mechanical fowl?
I prayed to the wings that kept me afloat.

Not too high, Icarus, or we’ll all go down –
The pull of hubris becoming a failing harness.

The great bird began its passive decent,
A feather in the breeze.
And my worries were left at
Higher levels,
And the glittering skyline that I had been dreaming of for half of my life
Suddenly becomes near.
I consider reaching my hand through the double-pane Plexiglas oval,
To caress the jagged silhouette as it wears the sun’s dying rays like a stolen diamond ring,
To pinch with the tips of my fingers
An unsuspecting toy car and place it on a highway leading to
Somewhere else.

But time is an avalanche,
Gaining momentum quicker and quicker --
The toy cars become real,
Life-size.
And the people in them are not dolls,
But engineers, junkies, biologists, tourists,
And (soon) me.

And sometimes (only when this town gets tedious
Or the sun is lounging on the horizon,
Taking a hazy summer bath)
I (can’t help but) remember.