this box seems built for your words. of new boyfriends, kisses and touches are not as electric. they do not fit inside here. i think back to words said, words written, that hold a constant comparison. sheets, covers, kisses, toes. recycled.

and now you're home again. i feel again how awkward you are, how strange your movement, how unpoised your gait. these words are messy and out of syntax, mixes of phrases just like you.

we ponder this.

my jeans are smaller and my hair is longer now. my eyes are more open and my smile is more knowing. i have new laughter and a deeper comfort. you're just the same. you don't seem as tall as the last time i saw you. you call more. i call less.

i think it's healthy like this/.

we ponder this. we get into bed and listen to music and once or twice our elbows touch and it doesn't mean a thing. your hands don't fall to the small of my back, i say that was horrible when you hugged me, so you start to feel my body with your hands. stomach back sides. curves. i feel nothing. i'm not shivering. you're only lukewarm. i fall asleep.

it seems natural this way, because when you call i lay in my bed til i am asleep. my voice is natural and i ask the right questions. i am just who i am. now. the loved. the girl who doesn't need you. the girl who doesn't want you. you ask about him. i murmur. i sleep. i don't care. i don't need you. maybe i want to see how your kiss feels again, but only for the feeling. not for you. i don't want you.

i don't know. it feels sort of mean, but it feels good.


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