Is that so?
Do you think that talking
in my sleep helps guide me,
gently,
as I walk through broken plates
left by all our generations?
I am bloodied,
and when I wake,
you act as though
nothing happened.
You leave me
to walk alone through this,
wondering how I got here,
trying to understand
the motions,
the feelings—
reaching for walls,
ruminating,
internalizing—
while from your watchtower
you can see it all.
You can see through it,
and I cannot
see you.
You reach out
and rearrange
the pain,
the fear,
the confusion,
when all I ever wanted
was to keep you safe.
That is all
I ever wanted
for anyone in my life.
I spoke it
into a love
that made no sense.
Why do that
to someone?
Why did I do that
to myself—
skew everything
until it made me
so small?
A look.
A word.
A face.
And then led
to a wolf’s
lies,
lies,
lies,
until they all
became true.
Was it enjoyable
to watch me crumble?
The harm I have done...
Tell me:
Was it worth the cost?
Did I pay enough
for you?
Or not enough—
for loving you
genuinely?
Tell me.
Did you see
the extent
of what you did?
How I hurt others
through the harm
you caused?
It was like poison.
How far can you see
from your watchtower?
Did you see
the messes I made?
The friends I lost?
The friendships
I nearly destroyed?
How my mind collapsed?
How I was losing
my ability to speak?
To write?
What did you think
of your magnum opus?
The scars
on my legs
and arms.
Did I bleed enough
for you?
Fickle thing.
You do not know me.
You do not own me.
You do not keep me.
I certainly
do not own you.
I never wanted
to own you.
Only to love you.
And if you were okay,
then I was too.
My wounds are healing.
And they ache.
I must repair
the broken pieces
of all these plates—
at least
what I can.
What I cannot,
I will leave.
Kintsugi,
they call it.
We know how
to work with gold.
I’ll shape these pieces
in such a way
that only those
who know how to handle them
will know
how to hold them.
And those who cannot
will cut their hands
against the edges.
Carelessness
will do that.
Maybe the next time,
if you so choose,
you will partake
in learning how
to handle something
instead of
only spectating.
love
is not pervasive.
Learn of life
and of the wounds
that make it—
not how
to make the wounds.
You are not
the only one
who has known pain.
I lost myself
in the wilderness.
Oh, but now—
now I know why,
Aeneas.
Your tongue
gives you a way.
I may have been mad,
but language is my gift,
and the moon
gives me sight.
I will never be
your Dido.
Enough
of this madness.