night thoughts

i cry sometimes, if i absolutely must. if it is for a specific situation in my past, i will put on a song appropriate for the grieving i must do and set about doing something in a last-ditch attempt to avoid facing the sadness. in putting on the song, i'm opening the door, but it's funny, it's like i have to try not to cry anyway. sometimes it takes a couple of times on repeat, and then a few tears find their way down my high cheekbones and trail off along my jaw.

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i heard you both outside. the christmas lights were on in the bathroom and nothing else. i was taking a shower, the door wasn't even closed all the way. i didn't feel vulnerable. i didn't hurry to finish rinsing the shampoo out of my hair.

"we're here, crisco," you said. your voice was full of cheer but i knew you cared in a serious way. i smiled and stood under the water.

i emerged, in my pajamas, hair wet, eyes bright with fever. i could barely think straight, but i didn't want to get anyone sick. i wasn't in a state to receive visitors. but i loved you.

"you see?" he said to me later. "you're even beautiful when you get out of the shower." i thought that meant he loved me, or that he might. i suppose he might have, or could have. we never reached that point. he stayed and read to me in the dim light. i spoke deliriously about poetry and who i was, who i was becoming. he looked at me and caught a piece of it. i will remember this night fondly because i know he tried.

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your head on my shoulder, my face in your neck. it's all the same so long as we're near each other. it's a constant game of touch, can't you see? and it never ends. that's the best part about it. no one ever wins, because the game is never over.

i do not take it for granted.