march.

"I always have to be
really tired in my
soul for this to work,
right?" she said.
i couldn't look her in the eye.
i didn't want her to be right.
"I always have to be
really tired and half-way
undone to get the voice back
that really talks.
you ever think about that?
you ever think about there
being something that keeps
you from talking like one of
those one way mirrors--
where you can see your words,
but they sure as hell can't.
and no matter what your fight,
you know they'll never feel it."
"feel what?" i asked.
she kept folding, kept placing,
kept packing her things into the
suitcase she picked from the yard
the week before and answered me just
like another fold in her dress--easy--
"feel, your heart beating in your mouth.
feel your meaning in the curves of the letters.
feel the wandering in your mind as it
crashes into your heart."
i didn't want to tell her I was afraid
of that. i didn't want to tell myself
i was afraid of that. so i shifted
my seat and tugged at the braids
on the couch.
"oh, i don't know. maybe."
"that's gotta be how it is, Em.
it gotta be."
she was going in a day and a half, now.
i was resisting it, but more avoiding.
because i knew she got it,
and i know she had me.
and i knew when she left all i'd have
left was losing. and more than the notion
that someone might not feel our hearts beating,
i couldn't stand the thought of not having
something good around to break my falls.