I forget how I got here.
Him? Maybe.
Not the 4:56 train.
Now that our days have been filled with yesterdays, tomorrows, days after and before, sometimes I wonder what remains? If nothing remains there is nothing to carry. Too many days to not loose oneself.

“Forget,” he said all-knowing, “like how I forget to use articles in the
English language”.
That which is not deliberate, only seems unrehearsed, unpracticed, unconditioned.

“How wrong you are” she thought.

“Listen, when I was brave, words and sentences and thoughts would drop from my mouth. They would roll around in the spaces we would occupy,

our kitchen, our bed, hallway.” Hands shaking, I pretend it makes no difference to me. I have been fucked, so what. I look away.

“It’s like the chair you use to sit on in the kitchen, what
if it is just a memory of a chair? Or the chair his
grandfather left him, symbolic of… or-”

“Did we buy it together? Well, it is now mine.”
It was always mine.

Yet, already, you fight. You keep saying
“this wood is not him,' however…”

lack of commThison word between us tells you that-
“Language can’t substitute for life, but it can substitute
for something.”

You cannot hear me.

“Take away the dessert, the rocks, but not the snow

from me. Take away the sky…”
“What?” I yelled against the wind…“What?”
He said nothing back, except: “I don’t quite belong…”

Once again, nothing has changed.  

Here, while we laid bare, I wept, but his hands still found my breasts.
Yet, already, 10 years. Together. Here.

This is not just another way to define why he clothed, to explain how I came with, why I endure wave after wave. I cannot look away from us.

 To outline why I still gaze, still sail, on dreams, still drift away with him.

 ‘Don’t fence me in.’