If I didn’t sleep, but you stayed with me,
would you say we shared something intimate
or incidental?
I’m not sure that you understood when I spoke
to you.
And I’m not sure I understood what I said
when I didn’t speak.
I can see your eyes and your mouth in front of me,
even before I close my own.
Everything I think about you feels like betrayal.
We were six. You told your teddy he was going to have to get used to living with me, as if it were a punishment. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that you store pieces of your soul in him, but with him here, I owned all your memories.
One night when he was running on empty, you gave him a quick refill of love. I didn’t think it was much, until his heart started beating in rhythms syncopated to my own.