Another night, another staggering proclamation. He is full of them now. Full of sweetness. Full of romance. Quick to fill in the gaps or the pause where everyone else is otherwise occupied. Full of absolutely devastating want and it stings like someone has peeled all of my skin off and thrown me onto a bed of salt. I would scream but the pain is so goddamned dull now it's become a part of me. A part of me that weighs a ton and I drag it everywhere I go, unable to properly breathe or move. This isn't fair.
Exactly what he says.
We are matching fingers. Watching the fire. Hands laced together, pressing fingerprints and then letting go. It's like counting into a mirror and having your reflection help you with the higher numbers. It's like a strange sort of residual magic that comes from someplace deep-seated and far away and lost forever.
There is nothing resolved here. We've been fortunate and we've been selfish and we've been lucky. What we haven't been is honest. I know the answers I'm seeking already. I know the reasons and I understand the doubts. I understand him better than I have understood anyone in my life and still sometimes I'm stunned by how fast he spirals out and how efficiently he can do it and get right back up and keep going. Only I know underneath it all he is eroding, albeit slower and more privately than most. It doesn't make things any less difficult. It doesn't make things any less important. And I think it would help if we were able to acknowledge when he begins to crumble instead of sneering at his endless perfection in our jealousy, because we all wear our hearts on our sleeves, bleeding, dripping down off the hems, and pooling on the floor and yet he seems to keep his in a cage, allowed out for rare fresh air, and otherwise locked up tight.
