That day was painful, more painful than the night before,
but liberating.
I used the smoke, three words, the cross,
to make a ritual used to cleanse the air,
to slide my mind into a trance.
The week that followed brought the numbing, dullness,
A revelation of the other side of truth.

It was ten days before I purged her from my heart,
But only hours before my thoughts came back to her,
Again and one more time.

It helped that we were distanced,
Space forced by the intensity of feelings,
The lull to balance the intensity of all.

Why did she write me back? Is it is game? Or is it what I think it is?
That subtle poem that she wrote,
Brought back emotions that I thought I had renounced.
I sense her transformation, her journey has just started,
The pride I feel for being part of it makes me appreciate it all,
painful and enthralling all in one.

I know it: she tried it too, but she could not avoid
The thoughts of me returning to her dreams again,
She's half strong woman, half a dreamer,
half kitten and the other roaring tigress.
Yet she refuses to acknowledge that that she cannot escape.
It is not me she is afraid to take, it's what's in her.
And she loves me, as I loved her.

I'm  different. It was known,
but yesterday it was understood.
This is why:

On Mondays I ask the questions that have no answer,
and my answers have no question.
Around noon I search for the space between orange and green,
then I listen for the songs between tomorrow and the future.
At 11:11 PM I try to choose between the bittersweet perfume of her sweat
and the scent of the magnolia flower in your hair.

I measure time by counting the blinks of my eyelids,
The wings of my thoughts fluttering without a purpose.
I'm dollar wise and penny foolish.
I give to all and yet I'm selfish.

In my head my poetry sounds like a cracked guitar,
and my music like a breeze rustling through the cherry flowers in May.
I close my eyes to see the world's beauty
and the pain makes me rejoice the eternal truth of life.
I gamble with my feelings and I'm cold to all.  
I see myself in all my friends and hate human condition,
but love the road I'm  given by blind luck.

Crossing a bridge I always pray for safety
but I slalom between my inner dragons,
crashing every once in a while,
scars visible on my dried knees,
tears frozen in time and space.

One rainy day, on the old barge on the wide river,
My left foot slipped on my autistic realm
and I  stomped my right foot on my genius
(if telling the future qualifies as a special gift).
My big toe said:
"you toad, where did you learn to dance, 'cause you are gnarly good."
I ignored the voice,
but that's when I had the first sign of it,
Of my strangeness.