Friday September 7, 2012 at Simon’s Sushi
My eyes are glassy and through them yours look glassy too. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re sending me a sign and it’s just too subtle for me to get in this fragile state.
I feel like I’m holding all my organs in my hands but they’re hot and I’m not allowed to put them down. I keep thinking this amount of pain will have to subside eventually but it doesn’t. You’re still looking at me and I’m still wishing I could shift my empty body with the hope that somehow tomorrow will be better.
I can’t articulate it clearly.
Glassy eyes, subtle signs.
I don’t have words where I should.
I don’t have strength where I need.
You sit waiting, eyes glassy from here even though from there it’s clear you’re not sending me love or anything remotely close to it. I could say I’m sorry but those words sound so foreign to me.
They sound like jet planes too close to my ears, making me cover them because I’m afraid I’ll go deaf if I try to decipher what the subtext means.
Your chair is warm by now. You could get up at any time and just leave the imprint of your weighted presence in the arms and seat.
You stay, though.
You’re looking at me, gluing me to my chair too, and I get that burning organ feeling again.