April 4th, 2014

The night was sharp and its edges were rocks around which to navigate. It was maybe because of my falseness and indulgences from the night before which knocked the Bible off the bed, or perhaps because of the words Brett and I spoke in the kitchen before retreating to our separate bedrooms. I try to love, or like at least, but the most I can honestly say I feel is curiosity, as if I'm watching. What will happen next? Brett's face breaks like water and he nods in agreement. When was the last time I said it and meant it? Surely not the length of any pairing. But no, this cannot be true. I am not the villain. I am not the villain. When I walked outside at night Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday of this week and smelled the smell of waking grass and resting blue, I remembered how much a part of the earth my veins are and felt that if I were barefoot I would feel a deeper pulse and recognize the beat. Just breathe one of my students writes you wouldn't drown if you didn't fight. I wonder if she knows how true this is. The quicksand desires at once to pull us in and support our weight. The decision lies in our muscles, but our muscles, so dumb and shining, so quick to act, betray us more than we would ever think our own bodies could. I am lucky; muscle memory ties me to the mast after all this time, but my ears are unblocked, and I hear. Oh I hear. Sometimes their voices sound like yours.