I drank a bottle of wine for company.
I have loved 3 times in my life, 3 times more
than I ever expected to.
And it has been a mess every time.
You would think I should be grateful for
having loved so much
but it only means I have been
broken 3 times more
than you expect in a life expectancy.
It only means I have moved
out of a heart I’ve called home more times than
I’ve liked. Let mannerisms and intimacies
fall out of my head, as if I never learned them,
as if they never did exist.
But it also means I’ve got more branches growing
out my skin, more stories on leaves tucked underneath
my tongue. I’ve got more thickness in
my bones that felt so brittle before. And based upon
the rings circled around my chest, it means
I’ve endured it all.
I know what it’s like to inhabit breath that
isn’t mine, and what it feels to stay up until 2am worried
my body is interrupting someone else’s sleep
when it doesn’t matter to them, as long
as they can feel the comfort of their feet
blanketing yours. I know how fast you can get
that dizzying lightness stirring inside
your stomach from a glance—just a glance
when taking your first dip into a newly
budding romance. The sound of I love you
hidden inside the language of laughing at the same joke.
How it feels not have a word to define
what it’s like to have someone unlock your
doors and start a fire in your lungs.
The photographic flash that goes
off in your mind when it is trying to save memories
while they are still happening, before they
could escape you.
3 times I’ve felt this peculiar thing,
3 times the intensity, 3 times the ache—
3 times so different
but all too much the same.