I am sitting and
wiping away water stains.
I am destroying someone’s little watercolor masterpieces.
I am watching my hands and waiting.

“I feel like we’ve lost each other or something
you know?
we’re together all the time
you know?
but where have you been?”  

You are all tired concern.
You never need to look at your hands.
They are sitting quietly in your lap
and I am sitting quietly for a while too
just waiting for my lips to move.

“I’ve been around
really
most of the time.
It’s just been
well
everything seems so profoundly beautiful
or so profoundly sad.
Everything.
I’ve just been—“
Exhale.
“Overwhelmed.”

I feel myself breaking up.
I am in that place between two radio frequencies.
All static and dissonance.

I am tearing a napkin into tiny perfect squares
then dropping them one by one into my coffee cup.
Controlled motions to stay
in control.

“I cried seventeen times today.”

There is another pause
a displacement of sound.
I hear a light burn out somewhere.

“Which were you crying for?”
You are steadying your voice
level and poised.

“I think—“
Exhale.
“that beauty and sorrow are intrinsically connected.”

You consider this and nod slowly.
You look pale and strained
like something grown under fluorescent lights.
I realize that I’m taking the color
right out of you.

“I must be some kind of unhealthy drug.
You shouldn’t be here.
We shouldn’t be here.”
I want you to stay forever
but my eyes are glued downward
and cannot tell you.
I sink a little bit more at this self-sabotage.

“How could I leave when you are so full of beauty
and so full of sorrow?”
You are managing a little half smile.

My hands are shaking and I feel my throat collapsing in on itself.
I finally look up to see a drop on your cheek.
I am suspended in shock.
“What is that?  What are you doing?!”
I am almost frantic.
I have never seen you cry.
Ever.
It is a horrifying unbelievable sight.

It is somehow the sides of both of us evening out.

You are still half smiling
and your hands are absentmindedly touching your face.
“Oh—“
Your words whisper out.
Slow sweet liberations.
“I am just borrowing a few of your tears.”