an older gentleman recently said to me,

you're too tall. but other than that you're delightful. 

well, sir, did you ever consider you're too short?

and yes, i am delightful, thank you.

words and time.

words were dangerous around him.
because they were so few and they meant so much.

he placed his open palm above my knee but below the hem of my dress, let it live there for a moment, feeling the shape of my thigh through my thick, black stockings.

i like you in tights, he said.

oh god. time. awareness. the awareness of time.
i took a quick, sharp inhale.

how is it possible he knew me before i wore little more than tights with skirts or dresses or ill-fitting sweaters--anything oversized to cover a ballooning body in the throws of a disease? how is it possible?

six years.

seven.
eight.
four.
years and years and years.
two months.

time. countless breaths marking time.

and he was there before. but not during. not really. and so much has changed and passed and morphed. and for each of the worlds i've traveled through, he's traversed his own.

and we know a little.
but not so much, not enough

and we don't use our words terribly well. we talk in the space of silence. willing nearly impossible interpretations.

and there's been so much time. but not enough, really. not enough.

but he knows me. words or not. six years or not. seven, eight, four, years and years and years, two months, or not. he knows me.

more time.

my manhattan: the late night edition.

i didn't want to say it out loud. knew if i did, that would be it. a barrier, a wall. the mandate of time.  it would place time between us. years, probably.

i had to figure out how to be happy all by myself.

when we kissed i pulled away and put my open palm against his heart. i want you to be good, i said. he looked at me, misunderstanding. whole. i want you to be whole. and good.


i've never been good with words around him. or terribly honest.

selfishly i couldn't bear the thought of being the person who
you asked me about happiness. whether it was something i had figured out on my own. or in the company of another.  but not saying it, not uttering the words wouldn't make the need for that any less real.




i see you sometimes in other people. i look to my left and a man is laughing, throwing his head back ever so slightly as you do and for a moment you're there. and i want to go right up and kiss you. but then my eyes adjust and i'm pulled back and i see it's someone else. i wonder if this love for you will ever dissipate.