a letter in the mail,
a three, four, five, or even six digit number meant for you to repay, sooner or later. but we both know the answer lies later than sooner
2.
in bed during broad daylight wearing his clothes,
missing, missing, missing
an empty space in your heart, vespers of fingerprints across your body
crying into your pillow til your eyes turn red and angry, bloodshot
defeat, the smell everywhere, damp.
where do loved ones go when they still exist, just not in relation to you?
3.
unfixable,
irreversible loss.

and finally, 4.
the screen.
tendrils of hair bunched into angry clumps in the palm of your hand,
blood dripping from eye to mouth,
a bored lumberjack with a garish mask flanked by black branches, auburn leaves
all of these things and a doll at the end of the dark corridor are nothing to worry about.

i can hear it when i'm walking down the street even if it's silent.
gazes fall over me like watchful crows, i try my best not to boomerang their stares. fearful, always fearful.
once an anecdote to share over a cup of coffee or a raised hand to gain participation points in women and gender studies classes,
sometimes (hopefully) taken seriously but above all if i was with the right person, a palpable tale.
i can hear their voices flood my mind even when they're not talking,
all backwards baseball hats and oversized shirts, pants that sag too low, purposely belted in the wrong place, or if not them then a construction worker sneering twirling his screwdriver in hand, an uneducated high schooler stepping off public transit, sometimes even a brazen-mouthed father holding a young child's hand.
i hear the unwanted coo that eclipses that of the humble new york pigeon or harmless night owl,
i had once thought "sonorous" to be a beautiful word but now i just associate it negatively,
for i hear it, the stream of "hey mami"s,"god bless you", "hey ****", "hey gorgeous how you doin?"
effortlessly tangible like the condensation on a glass of water.
i hear it when they don't speak, it comes naturally to me.
every man i pass by, i give him a voice. i say the words for him in my mind before he even gets the chance to speak or look at me. i've rehearsed it so many times because i've grown to expect it.
constantly fearful and hyperaware.
it's getting to the point where i can't even remember not being like this.
i hate myself for it because, and i repeat words in my head "honey, it's your fault for what you're wearing." who's on your side really? who's on your side when it's 100 degrees on a summer's day and you don't want to wear pants because you don't want to feel the burn on your legs?
"it shouldn't bother you so much."
"just listen to music."
"boys will be boys."
again and again and again
who really understands?

thankful for fall not only because of the pumpkin spice lattes and the countdown til the giant christmas tree is set up in the city, but partly because it'll give me a reason to dress frumpy, unflattering, shapeless.
hopefully it'll help me appear unknown.
that's all i can really hope for.
for now.

i can't pinprick the moment when something in me snapped and instead of being fully confident and carefree i decided i needed more.
more reassurance
more security
more.

these days i find my hands reaching out to grasp things i can't carry, and even though i hear the same three words over and over and repeat them back like an old favorite song, i still shiver out of nowhere.
perhaps it's a combination of the passing time being spent on things i can't control, be it work and routine conversation with throngs of people i'd rather not see
all of which underscore the fact that i can't touch you because you always seem too far away.
my childish habits have been chasing after me, these days i find myself skulking all the way home after work because i'd rather not entertain, i'd  rather hide under the warmth of the covers and immerse myself in fresh or tattered pages. live a different story other than my own for a bit.
tired of the fear but unable to change it.
complacent with the quietude and stillness.
missing the past and you in this silly way.

you asked for a sip from my straw but i just let you have the whole drink because i wasn't going to finish it anyway. respelt every word as "give" even though the meaning no longer applied to the situation. til whatever felt like an obligation morphed into a little something resembling friendship. harmony. camaraderie. i'm a sucker for those types of things. we could paint our nails and don heart-shaped sunglasses in the summer time together. lay in the grass and i'll remind you to stop biting your nails if you remind me to be better at saving my money. i have really great memory so i'll never forget--and sorry in advance if this haunts you--but i'm always willing to forgive if it means it'll bring me a happy memory to write about.
it's way easier to open up than it is for me to close.

i saw an elderly man today at war with gravity. i watched him tumble on the time-made incline of the pavement. he laid there with his cane in one hand and a crumpled ball of tissue in the other and wiped at his bleeding nose. we didn't know him but we stopped being bystanders and rushed over to help him up. nameless characters peeled off the backdrop like paper dolls in a children's activity book and everyone's faces were fraught with worry for the poor guy. he couldn't speak english so our barrage of questions likely confused his bedraggled and weary state even more. eventually a woman who spoke his tongue came to his aid and we later walked in the same direction and saw her tugging onto his arm, leading him where he needed to be. he still looked as detached from the scene as he did earlier.

i wonder if i'll be like that when i'm, let's say, 72. i don't want to be helpless but i'm scared that's all it comes down to. sometimes i feel burdened by the thought of time constantly passing, by the stolid fact that the progression of time will always be continuous. a never doesn't exist, and some things have to be inevitable.

i can say i wish that time would just stop even briefly but even then i'd just be wasting time.

what does it take to chisel time?
what does it take to structure a fully lived life?

in words that come after "i'd never thought i'd"

in the instrumentals that give me time to digest the lyrics that remind me of you

in my smile as i'm coming up the stairs for the 67th time at work that day

in the color of the sky that i look up to distractedly thinking of you when we're apart

in the 2 am creeping up on me as i try to write something that even remotely captures how fleeting the moments we have together are

in another contented sigh

thank you.

girls like me are built small
some might say fragile, even
but our hands are tough and strong
always clutching broad swords and shields
our lips: ruby red, from lipstick and/or taking the occasional wrong turn once in a while
our hips: like vases for flowers you sometimes forget to water when you're too busy (somewhere along the line i became more of a wildflower than a wallflower though)
our noses: so cute and buttonlike and perfect for those little lost and found kisses
our mouths: hopefully or hopelessly unabashed, through speech and silence
our willpower can crumble mountains
the dexterity of our hands tries as best as it can to reach you
but sometimes you're just too far away
on top of hillcrests in timbuktu
or in another woman's arms
or lost in your own thought
but it's alright, i laugh and you can still see the glimmer in my eyes even in the shadows you left behind

i am stronger than this