Being good at the obvious
You were never really good at the obvious. Hedging. You refused to say it or admit, except in dances. Dancing. You handed it over to me, ready to relinquish what was slowly falling apart. No longer interested in mending the seams, or hammering together the dusty, old panels of our world. Our life.
I had a dream last night that I folded you up like paper and let you fall out of my pocket as I hurried along a busy sidewalk filled with clowns, priests and school-teachers. I watched you fall, watched you get trampled on, but by then it was too late. All I could do was push against the crowd’s body.