Rachel coughs in the room next to me
A mattress on the floor cradling her softly
As the air mattress beneath me dies a slow, excruciating death.

(I chose this for myself -
Rachel has a bad back, remember;
My own back groans in protest.)

We moved you from Cleveland to San Diego -

three days of driving

- Rachel and my competing energies warring silently the entire time,

Both wishing

The other

were not there.

I reflect on the number:

3.

It’s your brother’s jersey number
And everywhere in your mother’s house
(Ten years now since he chose
To leave this earth)

We three kings,
The magic number,
Prime.

A crowd.

Its my birth order
Three of Five
-the middle child-

Guess I’ve always been
The odd man out.

One.
Two..
Three...
I breath in and out
Taking back control over myself

You said your address is 7773
Come out to the country and see me.
I launch myself into your open arms.
You catch me midair, as you always do.
Mine is 3777.
Same side of the mountains as you
Surprised, but I don’t know why.
Our numbers consistently align
We should be used to the subtle reminders
of the inner workings of the universe
By now
It’s been happening to us for years.

We don't need the perfect words or metphors
If we truly care for someone;
We don't need them
-Describing
how they feel...
all we need to know
is to see,
if our heart
skips a beat
or two
when they are
- Typing...

Three words can change your life:
"I need help."
Three words can make your day:
"I love you."
Three words can make a difference
In so many different ways.