badly reconstructed-
he had forgotten that the strength of forgiveness
has a disgusting undercurrent.
regret fills his gums,
hurts like a swollen tongue.
this taste, he doesn't recognize.
he doesn't want to stop
because he's afraid
that he might have been defeated
long ago.
i understand him,
he loves me when no one else
will. I watch him blink-
he does it like fireflies.
eyes moving and miraculously burning
simultaneously accepting all that the night had collected
and pressing me for answers.
sometimes he cries-
while a warm body sleeps on a bed nearby.
he's quiet when the world doesn't make sense,
and the others notice so quickly,
so he waits for them to fall far away and he cries to me.
grazing my skin with sweaty finger tips
wanting simple things to happen.
i told him last night,
that he has to keep searching;
that forgiveness is not a burden
not a gift, never wrong, and always really
fucking hard. i want him to know
that i've been with him this long
because i get him, but i can't love him
the way he loves me. he'll realize
all i have to give him by the time he dies.
after the audience finishes applauding our work
after the pages are gone, the files deleted.
the days may have passed but
he craves time travel,
not to change a thing
but to watch over and over again
the moments that hurt the most
and maybe believe a bit more
that it all happens for a reason.