June 30, 2017 - 9:09 p.m.
poetic justice: on you - #1 I like to be right, because it means I still know you.
my heart liked the symmetry of it
that made suffering for reward, self-doubt and being misunderstood
I believed that if it hadn't worked,
A decade later
We met. We fell. We transformed. We ricocheted away from each other. I wanted to stab your eyes out. And my own.
I recast you. I became the first. You were mine. Pasts obliterated, except for the part where we discovered each other. Uncharted. Now expert sailors; me, master of my own craft, you storm-chaser and victim to siren song. I relished every failed relationship, not for the pain it caused you, but because it showed you,
I had the power now, to witness you
Then to pick you up, out of the dust and brush you off -
I think what I like most,
You see me now. I think you always did, but you needed to be sure. More of yourself than me.
We buoyed each other. And I loved to be reminded that we are each other's safety net. As much as we have done to each other and ourselves, we learned to float, to feel ourselves drowning and push up from the bottom. Your pale skin will always feel like drowning to me; looking at you could have killed me so many times.
I had a dream. When we were first in love and not afraid yet, that you were about to break my heart - But I was afraid. I just hadn't realized that the fear I clutched, down out of sight, inside my guts - was there. No one had been able to touch it before. I foretold my own end. You called me crazy. Then you ended me.
Cliff jumping was our thing. The rush in mid air. Clinging to the feeling of that first death walk over nothing, into the blue iris of your stare
I like being your choice. And I loved imagining that in that split instant, on the staircase, when I parted your lips with a question and pushed my fingers into the skin of your thighs, that all that separated us was certainty.
I thought I had found my way back to you. Purposefully. Like walking back to bed from the bathroom, in the middle of the night in darkness. There is a familiarity that seemed like it must have been on purpose. Otherwise, why should I remember your shape and all the steps it took to get here?
But I was too slow. And you, too fast, glancing at another.
Even, or perhaps because, you were the one who broke me.