so when I look from zenith to horizon I can no longer tell whether I am myself or I am Leah-wife-of-Jacob, who maybe cried the same tears I did when she realised he would never love her. I could almost drown in all the insignificant pain of others before me who loved a significant her to no end or, avail.
Because it was me who was recalled to life on a single note of your voice which time has boldened to singularity. And it was you who said the best people get lost along the way with your back reflecting this half of the room. And yet
Anxieties flickering to embers; awakened.
Video tapes filed away; unpacked.
If I could not cry I would not, even when you shook my cynical bones to turbulence and life with the reminder that you are ephemeral and so am I. How should I pretend to live knowing that when I lose you this time it will not be to self-control, but to forces of something as calculated as time.