and words float out like holograms

i keep writing and deleting,
writing and deleting...

there's so much i could say to fill this blank screen, but i keep swallowing it down so you'll think i'm doing fine.

but really,
really the truth is honestly sincerely

i miss you and
whatever else i could say would amount to nothing more than those three words.

i did everything wrong. i tried to rebuild it so that we might not notice how really cracked and fragile we were. i didn't pay attention to the screaming siren in my head that said the only thing that matters is you&me. that was the only foundation i needed.

but i rebuilt this in the sand, and now i'm out to sea, trying to keep myself afloat on the splintered hope scattered about me.

i'm sorry. i'm sorry for ever thinking that we were both invincible to anything outside of us. we're only human after all.

my first instinct is to say
let me fix this, let me fix this, let me fix this.

but maybe what i should be saying is
let me love you, let me love you.

i'm holding my breath for the next leap into who knows. i just hope it comes soon.

Wash and Run

I sat in the car wash and cried.

High impact pre-soak. I'm jumping in the deep end. The briny water is cold against my skin, and goosebumps race to the small of my back in a marathon for the finish.

Foam bath. I'm sinking like a tombstone, flailing my arms and kicking my legs to power myself to the surface. Everything is blue and hazy. Like when you're looking long distances from a high altitude. Same thin spread of oxygen, but a little more disorienting. My clothes drag behind me. Air bubbles from my nose rise past my face and get tangled in my hair. I just want to be suspended there in that cold and silent reverie.

Clear coat wax. The light is brightening and my lungs are burning. I twirl my fingertips in the shimmering, watery sunlight that filters down and warms my face. Or is that less oxygen? A few more kicks yet.

Dry. I push against the azure, break the surface with my head and hands. Damp air blows across my face and I'm floating in miles of it. No sand or rocks or grassy cliffs. I sail where the sun meets the earth for a goodnight kiss and close my eyes.

I'll just go to dinner and pretend like my world didn't turn to liquid beneath my feet. Just a few deep breaths and it'll all be over, falling one way or another. At least now my car is clean.

Fiction Class II

Sunday morning, January 6th. I sit at my dinette table staring at the gray and black boxes of the crossword puzzle and chewing on the cap of an ink pen. It's been three days since you left. The phone rings, but I don't get up to answer it because I know it's you. There's an urgency in the ring I can almost hear. Also, you're the only one who calls at 7 in the morning because you always forget about time zones. You're lucky I couldn't sleep. My answering machine cuts off your opportunity to catch me live and in person.

"Kay here. Can't come to the phone so do your thing."
I changed it 15 minutes after you turned the corner away from our street. For some reason, it was the first thing I thought about, the greeting on the answering machine.

BEEP

"It's me," you say, because you know I'd recognize that exasperation anywhere.
"I really can't stand that voice mail greeting. I said I was coming back, right? I just needed to get away for a while and...Look, I'm not getting into it with your answering machine. Anyway, I just got into Portland. You'd really love it. I have an appointment with a publisher next week, can you believe it? Well, I miss you."

There's a sigh, and then a click as you hang up. I find I've turned myself toward the direction of your voice with my arm bracing the back of the chair, my legs ready to jump up and race to the phone at a moment's notice. I relax my muscles and turn back to 41 down. Eight letters. Leaves, withdraws; as into privacy.
R
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R
E
A
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S


Wednesday afternoon, January 16th. I'm at work skimming through a student's essay about Faulkner