6.28.18 – Friction’d
Always I’m speechless, left without even the breath to conjure a whisper. That voice feels so far away like I’d have a hard time luring it back just to give you a single word. The rest of me is suffering from a similar kind of shock, a current coursing ‘round from ears to toes and back again in case I had some sense left that wished to be fire. I’d say I heard ringing, one that drowned out all the sound in the world, but the reality was your humming sang out clear as day. I couldn’t feel my limbs but your fingers gently parting my hair came through without disruption.
These artifacts of you were like ghosts haunting specific rooms of me. Maybe we hadn’t truly crossed paths in several turnovers, but the dreams were often pulling me back into an open set of ephemeral arms. I’d reached for them several times in the middle of the night, awoken when I grappled with only the air and fell through it like a sudden tumbling off stairs. I couldn’t even remember the fights that swarmed those quiet hours, but I woke with the wounds of a beating and always had to drag myself from the cot like recovery was impossible in that position.
There was conversation waiting to happen between us, one where tears would come and offer the opposite of sadness. I didn’t remember how to start that up, having wrenched that reactive device shut so it might not find harm at its feet. I knew you were there to loosen it, to wrap yourself upon me and pull that center free from a madman’s foolishness. I was trying keys at the lock, in the deep between dusk and dawn, but I’d given them away and forgot exactly how it was to ask another for help. Even if I had the right words and the power to project, I wasn’t sure I could.