I liked her because she was brave
and fragile at the same time
--a contradiction I know all too well,
the burden to carry.
I should have known,
as we sat and we talked,
the two of us,
in the silent hours,
that even in her bravery,
the darkness would creep in on us
from unseen places,
--places I hadn't seen in a long time,
and were, tonight,
to be brought before us.
Her darkness and mine
churning the waters until they were black
and my stomach burned
and I hated us,
hated life.
Hated life because it had done this to us.
Made us real.
Made us raw.
Made us emotional.
Too emotional, for ourselves, in this small little room,
not enough space to contain ourselves.
And I wished then,
as I always eventually wish,
that it wasn't so hard.
The emotions creeping in,
too heavy a burden tonight,
as they all eventually became
--become,
in time.
Time is a silent monster,
a stealthy creature that makes his way in the dark,
on his belly,
his scales feeling for the vibrations of hearts nearby that are too strong
or too soft,
or too anything,
really.
Any victim will do.
And that night time stole a chunk of me,
caught up to me,
because I had finally decided I had a reason to stop running,
take some respit,
at least for a little while.
And he mocked me as he ate a hole through the two of us,
there, in the dark.
And I should have known.
And I whispered to her that I was sorry,
because I was,
because I had stopped running and she has stopped to sit with me,
and whether time had come that night for one of us, --whichever one,
he had stopped for both of us.
And so I sit now,
alone,
in my own darkness,
because I would rather be eaten alone,
than to hear the screams of my partner beside me, as we face the perilous jaws of time
together.
And unwhole.
