born

I think it was when I met you (and I did know something some sort of pact did say yes—but after I don’t deserve you I don’t know, I’ve just got to hate myself first and second get better somehow) grief is just love with no place to go. It was when I first met you that I began to carry grief willingly, unknowingly first in my heart and then in my flesh and anywhere else I could stash it enough I just needed to’ve had enough of it (I think someone might always need to tell me when it’s enough) (sternly—a dynamic that really works for me) It was when I next met you that I began to love my grief willingly, then knowingly and your grief, and theirs found it all right here right where I’d always feared it would be and then I knew enough, or heard it or said it and put my head against the cool dusk glass saw a fly crawl across the opposite plane stop by my head and wait I went to the lawn and laid in the grass and stared up at the sky and the clouds and in the distance I heard a guy shout…