Litigious

This isn't about scoreboards or tallies. This isn't about who's done what to whom, when or how many times. This isn't about right or wrong, fair or unfair. This is about you and me and the two hearts beating in our chests. The two hearts that for a time beat as one. The heart in this body that still seeks your rhythm to make its own. I could lie and say I'm done, it's over, I've moved on. But I won't, because I'm not, it's not, and I haven't. I want you. I want to give you my love. These things that used to be so hard for me to say, I'm saying them. To you. Feel that.

Vaquero

Midnight ride into the west. Away from you and all the unfulfilled plans we had. "I'm not taking you." I know. I don't want this truth, this world, but I made it. I wish I could deliver you out of it, even if I had to stay alone. I can't erase everything I feel; I'm sorry I ruined everything you felt.

Defunct

No more fighting. No more denying. I will lay down my sword and my shield and let you deal the killing blow. I drew first blood, but my heart was never in that battle. My heart, in fact, has always been with you. And you can keep it--no, I don't want it back. It's better, I think, if I never use it again. So hold on to it, store it, put it in a bottom drawer and forget about it. Maybe someday you'll stumble upon it, when you're cleaning out your apartment to move into a new home with a beautiful woman. You'll wipe off the thick layer of dust and squint at it, trying to recall. Then, after you do, smile, please. If you're feeling kind, you can mail it back to me. If I get it, if I know you're okay, then maybe I can be okay too.

Repoussé and homeopathy

There is no relief, no remedy, without you. Whether I recover or retire, I can't do it in silence. I can't bear the weight of my own solitary mind anymore. I smile at the ones who carry my sun, but the moon has always belonged to you. The curves of my skin, the smell of my hair, the taste of my mouth, the tips of my figers, they're all yours. I traced those words on your chest once, even before you knew what they meant. Do you remember those nights? Do you really not long for their return, as I do?

Then, hard as it might be, tell me. I need to hear it. I need to hear your voice.

Necesito ocultarme en las palabras españolas. Necesito recordarme que no puedo tener la comodidad de tus armas. Cuando estoy agitada en mi cama a la noche, no tengo la derecha de correr a ti, aunque siento en mi corazón que es correcto. No quiero luchar contra ti; no puedo luchar contra ti. Tú ganas. Estoy conquistada. ¿Estás contento ahora? ¿Estás contento sin mí?

Midden

Do me the favor of telling her why she's been thrown on the rubbish heap. Oh, am I not supposed to know? Since when have we been keeping secrets? I never got that memo. But she knew, and I figured it out, and I don't want you to be the one who proves me wrong when I say that all boys aren't assholes. It's been a dog eat dog year, and I really need someone to believe in. I know that's a lot to put on you, but you've never let me down before. Don't start now. Please don't start now.

Coerce

She led him to the bed. She whispered sweet words of impermanence and unaffectedness. She touched only the parts of him that were already exposed. She made no move without warning him first. She did everything he never asked for, but always wanted, with a genuine smile all the while.

Through the night he said nothing, and she never made him. Now that the morning has come, she wonders what good all the silence was.

Perfunctory, eudaemon and desalinize

A perfunctory glance. Is that all I am to you now? What do I have to believe to resurrect the eudaemon we once knew? Your words could desalinize my tears. Your hand could chase away my fears. But instead I cringe at the thought of seeing you again, of your implicit request that I pretend. Can't you see we're not ready yet? Can't you see there's still too much left unsaid? I'm waiting for you to act. I'm waiting for you to be a good friend.

Map

I'm just rolling with the pain, like waves on this vast black ocean. Deep dark waters cover most of the map, so I'm sailing blind, looking for a harbor. The faint light of a watchtower rolls around in the foggy night, but I cannot find its source. There's no rush, though. I've always been friends with my solitude.

Emarginate, filoplume and palpitate

My heart beats hard, palpitating against my will -- and yours, it would appear. You've left me emarginate, like the chip in the good dish, the last blank in the crossword puzzle. I'd fly away, but I traded my brilliant wings for a single filoplume, so that I could afford to keep you warm. The oppressive heat of home has taken the place of your icy arms, and yet I can't help longing for a return to yesterday. I'm not sure I've found the solution; that is to say, I'm sure I haven't found it yet. So for now I'll walk around with this problem on my body like a tattoo, like a constellation of bug bites on my left hipbone. And we'll see if you find the courage to open up once more.

I force myself to dance, to move through the nerves, to pretend I didn't hang my head over a sink and hope it would all stay in. I won't get caught up in your vague mysteries; you know, I'd like to think we're past these games. Honestly, lies are the problem. In my opinion, you withhold the truth from yourself the way I hold back my affection, the way she holds back her hair when she's releasing all her emotions into the toilet where they belong. Well, I can tell you one thing: that won't be me. No sir, not over you.

Retreat

I dare you to tell that ghost in your head to go jump off a cliff the way you basically asked me to cut out my heart and lay it on the side of the road where it'll get hit by your car every time I see your face or hear your name my stomach retreats to the crevice of your shoulder where I used to rest my head. That's how these things go, you know? This is what you always do.

Better

Angry butterflies bombarding my stomach, with wingtips like needles that cut and steal my breath. I reel with the shock of your alias; did you ever know my true identity? The sand beneath my toes didn't help me figure anything out, and the cold bay air chilled me to the core. At night the memories take over, but they play games with themselves, shifting and transforming and disappearing. Nothing makes it better, though. Nothing erases the hurt.

Bisque and colcannon

"I want to be long and leggy and beautiful, and I want boys to love me." She prays with her eyes closed and her heart heavy. So young, so hungry. But not for the food in front of her--not the bisque nor the colcannon nor the bread. No, her hopes rest on a greater feast, and patience sates her stomach for now. "One day," she thinks, "I'll be older and life will be better." She cannot yet imagine the bittersweet complexity of growing up. Her father says, "Amen," and her mother says, "Drink the soup." Still innocent, the girl smiles and does what she is told.

Yawp

The girl cries out to me, "Stop! Don't do this to yourself. Don't harden, don't weaken, just be. Open yourself up to the truth. It shall set you free." I want to believe. Can it really be that simple? Relax, and you'll be relaxed? Smile, and you'll be happy? She says it's so, and I've always trusted her. She has an honest face, like me.

Actuate and manciple

The dignity of a woman. Where does it lie? In her heart, or in her head? In her heart, or in her hands? She stands tall, with her chin held high, but her eyes stare emptily into the distance. She's searching. She's looking for something--someone?-- she wants to see. But maybe that's keeping her from seeing what she needs to see. What he wants, and needs, her to see. To understand. To accept. And to respect. Can she do it? Can her affection for him give her that much strength? The answer remains to be seen.

Mouth

Take your time, I'll still be here. I trust your hands, your mouth, your heart. I don't believe this is what you want. I don't believe this is the end. Maybe the sun is setting today, but I have faith that tomorrow will come. In some way, some shape, some form, you and I have more to see.

Spoonerism, patency and ulna

I said "anyone" when I meant "you." Isn't it funny what fools like me do? I thought you'd know, you'd see right through, but with a backhanded slap you split me in two. I try not to wait or to think or to cry, and mostly I just let the time pass me by. When they ask me I smile and for once I don't lie, but what I leave out is how scared I am of just "hi."

Propose

You've left, on a jetplane, and I propose a toast: to you and whatever you want and however long it takes you to understand what really happened and who I really am and what I really meant to say. Don't you know I speak in code, that I can't just tell you what I want? I'm awkward, I'm shy, and you're such a great guy. I don't see how you don't see.

Destination

I don't know where we're going; from the start, you've been the one who held the map. You said once you were going to navigate your own way, and you did, but that means the destination has always been a mystery to me. When we hit that fork in the road, you went one way and didn't say a word. So I stood there in the darkness and waited for you to return. Now I can't find you, and I still don't know where we're going.

Da capo

One, two, three. Slowly they come together. Four, five, six. He pushes her away. Six, five, four. She learns to live alone. Four, five, six. He invites her back in. Seven, eight, nine. They walk in clouds. Nine, eight, seven. She stabs in the dark, and hits his heart. Six, five, four. He tells her to stay away. Three, two, one. She learns to live alone.

Weapon

I bury my denial in music. The passionate tones are like a weapon against my own tempest of uncertainty and worry. Future sits just as stoicly as ever, and I wonder why he ever put up with me in the first place. I try to tell him stories; he calls them out as lies. I try to ask him questions; he says he won't answer whys. So I smile and wave goodbye; he pretends not to have seen.

Mitosis and chum

Cleaved in half, in two, maybe four. Pieces of me and pieces of you, mixed up like chum and thrown out to sea. Floating, bobbing up and down on the salty water, poured onto wounds never truly healed. Once was my legacy, now it's your turn. You helped me fix myself, but I don't know if I'll get a chance to return the favor. You held me through the night, you told me I was beautiful, and I believed that you meant it. Later, much later, you said you trusted me, and I was never quite convinced that you did. Now I see that the trials that lie in the wake of so many have undone us. That's my shame. That's the scarlet letter I'll wear. That's the burden I'll gladly bear for you.

Small

So obsessed. Can't stop thinking. Can't stop spinning. The small things sweat out of the pores of life and onto the page, and every star lights up like a sun. A strong honey voice sings my thoughts to me, and her black dress sways at the hem. Around me people dance in masks, but I know those eyes. A friend speaks of the crash, the lines we draw between ourselves, the walls we build, the hate we fuel. I tell her there's hope. She asks me how I can believe.