You will see cobwebs and spiders
covering round the clavicles,
traversing down the cartilage.

Close your eyes and listen intently
And you will hear the sound of the leaves
being carried around and away
in that valley of questions and shadows.

Sometimes you will see broken twigs.
Everything is broken inside,
so rest assured that you can never break some more.
Someone, before your arrival,
has already did the favour for you.

All you can do now is lean over my chest
and close your eyes
and listen to the distant sound of the wind
and leaves being blown around

inside this rib cage.

You said
you are interested in films.
And I happen to know
a certain director.

I introduced him to you
hoping to make you happy.
But to my surprise,
your interest shifted.

Not long after
you ran away with the director.
And left me,
under the tree,

waiting for you,
with flowers trembling in my hands.

You know,
The only thing I want for my birthday is you.
Just you.

The rest of the entire world can fall away.

Hey
What are you thinking?
'bout me?
You said you're thinking 'bout me.*

That you are incredible
and how much I adore who you are.
That you do not compromise who you are by what you think I want to hear.
That you just are you,
that you made this easy and intimate
me showing you those photos.
That I want to make love to you
and kiss you a whole lot.
That I hope I make you feel as comfortable as you made me feel.
That I hope you love me more
and will continue to love me
for a very long time.
That I am getting tired
and I wish two things could happen:
you be here to keep me awake
and you be here to wake up to,
after we fall into slumber.

I think a lot.

And these complements
I wonder if you have already said
the same thing before.

I wonder who those people were.
I wonder how many times you have given them.
I wonder if they believed you.
I wonder how they have responded.
And I wonder how you have reacted.

I wonder what could have been.

You said
how those words have traveled
from person
to person
to person
is no longer relevant

as they pertain to me now
and to us.

But I think it is important,
the history and composition of those words.
The old names attached to them,
and the old songs
and the old memories
of the person long gone.

And how they have been passed,
received,
given away,
taken back,
and given again.

Most of the time,
these thoughts keep me awake at night.

These are the kinds of names
that cannot be recycled.
And once given,
these are the names that cannot be taken back,
thus cannot be handed down to someone else again,
especially in its battered form.

Because unlike all the other names,
in these old names reside
the existence and haunting memory
of a person long gone.

I,
am the woman from your future

And you,
are the man from my past.

Aren't we,
*ironically magical?