After getting off the phone with you,
I sit in the bathtub to make sense of the feeling that i'm drowning.
I blame it on the water, my soul isn't heavy it's the soapy water encasing my body.
It's time to be honest.
I don't pick up the phone because i'm scared of the repercussion.
I'm scared to feel myself sink back into a shell that I threw away a year ago with the memory of the pain.
But you know me, I don't throw anything away, I tuck it into a dark corner and say "maybe i'll need it again."
I don't talk a lot because thoughts of I miss you, come home, you made me so sad, you made me so happy, you made me ME, keep running through my head that an unmeaningful conversation about what's on TV doesn't flow.
No, I don't remember anything from when we were young i've hidden it from myself, but yes i'll tell you I remember just so you can tell the story because I know it makes you feel something.
Yes, i'm just as numb as you are and I know you didn't ask, but everytime you say you're just tired I want to say "me too."
Tired of fighting, tired of displaying feelings, tired of hanging myself out to dry after the flood has passed.
So now, I sit in my bathtub moving the water with my feet, remembering doing the same in the river water last time you made me feel pain.
a.n.F

that night that you told me you felt so alone
i called you, and we talked for hours.
we poured our feelings out to each other
like we used to on those nights when we hadn’t seen each other
in a while
and we just felt lonely.

you told me you felt so alone
and it made me feel relieved
because, you know,
i feel pretty alone, too.

and it made me feel relieved because
i thought maybe now,
even though we were still technically alone,
we could be alone together.
together, alone?
maybe just less alone?
whatever it is...

i just thought, you know,
why do this to ourselves?
why do you like doing this to yourself?
why do you like doing this to me?
i don’t like doing this to us, you know?

you said you still cared.
and, maybe you do,
i don’t doubt that maybe deep down, you’re telling the truth,
and its not all *******.
but i also don’t doubt that you don’t love me anymore.

because maybe you care,
but you don’t love me anymore
to care enough, you know?

you don’t love me anymore
to tell me to stay, this time.
is there a this time?
is that what this is?
are we just falling back into this poisonous cycle?
is it poisonous?
because all of the hurt i’m feeling right now
is not from when we were still together,
it’s all from afterwards.
doesn’t that mean anything?
that the only reason
i feel so empty
is because i’m not with you anymore?
the only reason
we feel so alone
is because we don’t have each other?

that night you told me you felt so alone
i called you, and we talked for hours
and i told you this:
that even though this phone call is so sad,
this is the happiest i’ve been in weeks.
and that was true,
i felt happy because finally,
i was, once again, talking to you.

Never will our hands meet
Bare skin on bare skin
Never will our lips meet
Our love formed over early morning texts and late night calls
Never will our eyes meet through anything more than a phone screen
Speaking of meeting brings disappointment
Hating every inch in between us
Jealous of all close to the other

...the old classic "I'm forever trying to keep ahead of that freight train--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXIV)


Lo, peach-kissed fluffy white clouds sailing thence
In bluest seas oer greener Maples frail
Winds softly ply to soto voce's scale
Of whispers on a Friday evning's calmer sense,
And I'm too zonkered to but note from hence
What nudges memries long since past t'avail,
As if Mum still was waiting in betrayl
To talk and laugh while sunset yawns oer whence.
Now but's an hour 'til midnight, hark! in poor
'Scuse an explosion rocks the silence, to
Lapse into nothing.  Is't July astir
Upon suggestion?  O, what matters?  Do
We feel the changes tugging, what's as twere
To do?  Perhaps Joe shan't call.  Say I knew.  

30Jun17c

husky voices
telling me the truth
of words tied
into a rhyming lullabies
guide me along
to the la-la-land

No phone call
No message
No good night
No good day
No surprise
No time trial
No sum ails
No bearings
No veering
No phone call
No message
No good day

I stood at the street corner under the blistering heat, waiting for the bus to arrive.
I'm not even supposed to be out today, I thought, but I hate to be stuck at home on a dismal Wednesday.

I left the house wearing my Jurassic Park shirt not knowing where I was headed, then decided coffee was always a good idea.
After months of forbidding it, I permitted myself to peer into the corners of my memory and recall the name of that quaint little coffee place you used to work at.
'The service here is amazing, ain't it?'
'You should let other people tell you that.'
'Well, it pays to be courteous.'
Thinking of you seems to be harmless now.

Sweat started to trickle down my nape. The cars were at a standstill. I assumed the stoplight was broken until it turned green and cars started to speed past me. Out of habit, I checked the plate of every white sedan that passed by, in hopes of seeing yours. The light turned red again.

I could see the bus from where I stood. I scanned cars that didn't even remotely resemble yours. For a split-second, I thought I caught a glimpse of the familiar rickety white auto. Don't be stupid, I reminded myself.

The light went green. I saw that I had made no mistake. It's him. My insides went numb.

I struggled to keep a straight face; to remain as stoic as I was seconds ago, but I could feel my expression betray me for a moment. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. The sedan passed and I could almost swear it slowed down as it drove by me.

I couldn't even tell if it was really you in the driver's seat. I remember often complaining about your windows being too tinted. I tried not to grin at the memory.

When you had passed, I allowed myself one last glance at the plate, and then you were gone.

Thoughts competed for a spot in my head. Did he see me? Did he recognize me? Was he with anyone? Where was he going?

Was it even real?

The bus honked louder and snapped me out of my daze. I got on.

• • •

I was sprawled on the couch with a book on my lap, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the phone. What was left of my sanity argued that you had no reason to reach out. Still, I waited.

At this point, I was drenched in flashbacks of what was, and it all feels like it was only a dream. I was in the passenger seat of your car again, my eyes half-lidded, classical music on the radio; and through my peripheral, I could see the sunlight hitting your face, and I had never seen anything so captivating. The reality of you seems to have come out of a novel - arriving at the most unforeseen time and staying only for as long as the Universe grants. A mirage, in every sense of the word. I wondered if any of it happened at all.

The phone rang.