She knows I’m supposed to end up with him someday.
She doesn’t know where or when or how.
She doesn't care.

But she knows
Like she always has
And she reminds me.

I held the book too long but ended up a content reader.
She wants to rip out the back pages and add a million blank ones
The last inscribed with promises instead of apologies.

Nothing can stop her from whispering to me now and then.
No hands of Time squeezing her neck if only for a chance to turn her cheek
Or bridges built of closure,
Band-Aids disintegrated into flesh.  

She’s a fighter, one much braver than me.
Her stubbornness peeks through her passion
And I cannot help but stare.

She knows if the breathing doesn’t match then it’s worthless
I know I’ll have to dig until enough letters can give "worth" a new definition.

She cares about my happiness.
I care about her.

Sometimes I can’t sew her mouth shut
So I straighten the thread out repeatedly hoping everything will soon follow.
The needle is too big and unravels into every poem he ever wrote.
Her fingers peel my eyelids back as she fills me up with his words.
Their voices swirl together and I swear I can hear mine.

Her words are quiet but so articulate I feel each consonant strike my ear
Sent on a smooth path straight to my chest before my brain can even take a breath.

She knows the heaviest thing I carried away was her Welcome Mat a few months ago
But I pity and admire her for making that a reason to stop knocking
For actually wanting to stay.

At night, my tears scream out that I think she’s wrong
That my progress is in the palms she constantly shows me face-down.

She doesn’t believe that I don't want her around.
She shouldn’t.

Her claim is that we’re on the same team
But I spend every moment justifying my losing score to my conscience.

She is determined to win.
I am often determined to let her.