titles are scary.

it's like this. i won't get to sleep without getting these sentences down, black & white; subsisting and mortal. it's like this: start thinking about the beginning and end of a human heartbeat and you might never really sleep again. sure your eyes are closed but your breathing never steadies, your brain doesn't take walks in the park it opens windows and then falls out of them.

you were looking at me earlier, your sunset eyes, and i thought, if the space between our mouths does not dissolve i cannot promise that i won't fall down and then lay there mapping out the theoretical requirements to convert to a creek or some other quick-moving body of water.

i thought it but i didn't say anything, i stayed quiet and just stood there against the wall like a tree that's been rooted since before we were born, the space between our mouths still sitting there, an empty parking lot.

jeffrey eugenides

the doctor looked at me gravely and asked me to read his name tag out loud. i said "jeffrey eugenides," who is the prodigious author of "the virgin suicides" and "middlesex." his name tag did not say this. he had small eyes and a thick ring on his index finger. at the time i found this response quite hilarious and very relevant. he did not, not even a little. i laughed lackadaisically, a laugh that belongs in space, everyone looking at me blankly. the nurse was holding my hand in hers but i couldn't feel it. the outlines of the people were vague and melting and the floor wasn't under me but inside of my brain being walked on by serial killers. i was crying, the kind that has no tears, i whispered, "you don't understand, i just fell in love."  
in this story, in my story the nurse says "no, no it's just the drugs" but in the nurses she just says "i promise you're not dying." you squeezed my hand three times.

things that really happened

i stood in the freezing cold outside the bar clutching a heineken while you showed me the pictures.  i pretended i wasn't shaking and you pretended you weren't sad and the night sky pretended it didn't watch us, the opening of some mediocre film about life.

you asked me how long it's been and no, i couldn't answer because time has no arms or legs in my stories so i said it's been awhile, i said it's been a really fucking long time. i know because i'm almost ready, the blood is on the brink of shouting out your name & even if it's a whisper i'll take it and make it beautiful, even if it's just me crunching fall leaves under a new pair of boots. i wrote "cinnamon mouths" on a slip of paper and prayed you knew what i meant, that we'd get there, on our feet or maybe in a jet plane.

we weren't face to face then and we had not yet held hands but you named the freckle above my lips meg white & said my eyes were emeralds.

 I'm tired.