151.

I am walking, footsore, back to the bed we slept in
travelling weary and wanting you like I swore I wouldn't
and you will always be the Her in my stories

and do you remember
how everything happened for us past midnight
all of our best moments wrapped in some half-haze, veiled
at 3 AM after he had stopped asking where you were
and we could cradle each other like eggshells in a feather bed

and you were always feather-soft, your edges blurred
through little crystal tears in the corners of my eyes
or maybe I just didn't want to see you
too clearly in the light of day

and we ended softly, too
no loud goodbye, just the hush of regret
and the words I whispered into your hair while you slept -

the words I laced into my fingertips, and
I still hold hands with them sometimes,
every pillow-lipped I Love You

and today I wrap them in a fist.

I have been blindfolded and foolish, thirsty for 3 AM
while I am walking away from you in circles
and coming back to you again

and do you remember
the things I showed you under the covers, my hunger
and the questions I painted black across your bedroom wall
how gently I kissed your skin and how hard I hoped
you would tell me your secrets

but we ended with a clap and a jolt
some storm inside me breaking, no clean goodbye
just the hush of a rain curtain closing you out
and drowning my broken back.

I am still waiting for our epilogue
but some midnights still fill my mouth like introductions,
like the first time we touched, our early years
your eyes and all the colors of you
and everything is thunder-swirled inside of me

so I suppose
that waking up at 3 AM will always sound like you breathing
and you will always be the Her in my stories

Gaslight

I am sick and you are cradling me in a borrowed bed
we are falling in love and you are telling me
you will make me better

cut to you wearing the headband my grandmother made
at a party, and I am wearing your hat over my smile and spinning
you are telling me I am the best thing that's ever been yours
and that's why you want to marry me

cut to you catching my arm before I walk out the door
you are telling me you will miss me too much, and that's why
I can't visit my mother alone anymore

cut to you kissing other mouths on the dance floor
and my cheeks red and wet three days later, my own mouth
asking you why. you are telling me you have a headache
and that's why you want me to stop talking

cut to me crazy in love and crying, you have convinced me
to rough-house with you in the kitchen
you grin and hold me while you are telling me
this is a game, and I am trembling

cut to me crunched into myself under our bed sheets, hands grasping
and empty of you, lungs wracked with fever and flashbacks
feet just starting to slip just past sanity
you are telling me you are worried about me, but
you just needed to blow off some steam
and that's why you left me here

cut to me waking you at 4 AM, bleeding
into the bed and you are carrying me to the bathroom
to wipe my legs clean of the red mess I've made

cut to me seeing shapes behind corners, holding your hand
as we take a walk to clear my cracking head, as monsters slither up
from the depths of campus fountains and I am convinced
that the hooting owl above us is coming for me, I swear
you are telling me it is okay that I'm losing my mind
because you are here, you are here

and did you wait until I came home from the hospital
before slithering under her covers?
or did you kiss her the night I checked in?
maybe it was months later, I can't remember.
my mind got broken, gets fuzzy
and I still forget things

cut to me folding my paper hands and swallowing tears
three months later saying I have to leave
you are telling me I am selfish
and you want me moved out by Monday

cut to you stretching the headband my grandmother made
over another girl's head at a party while I am watching
you are telling me I broke your heart,
and that's why you act this way

cut to you whispering my name to new friends
and stringing it together with words like "cold" and "heartless"
I am telling you we cannot be friends anymore, and
you are telling me it's no great loss to you

cut to me still telling our story to myself sometimes
still trying to piece it together, still tripping
through fog and a bramble of busted memories
still trying to forget what you told me