stories from the Realm

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If I could
jaunt
across a million miles
in a single thought,
encapsulated,
like so many transfers of information,
like synapses,
I would.

If I could sing
and be heard
in Florida air,
the sea would never want for music.

I’m beginning to forget
there’s a body out there,
somewhere across miles of ocean and land,
something tactile,
to hold myself against at night.
Even pictures evoke less and less;
there are fewer memories
worth remembering
when the possibility of any touch
is too far away to exist in present reality.

What should I do with myself?
I feel distance pulling at the strands
that connect my heart to his.
Tenuous threads, they strain
with the notion that
I could sink so easily back into an embrace.

And since I have no one to share
my heartache with -
for men are unaffected by such trivial things -
it seems there is nothing left to do.

Nothing has changed.
And yet,
everything has rearranged
itself.
I see in wayward glances
a deepness I had not felt there before.
But I felt it before, knew
before you said it that you felt it, before
I knew myself enough to know
that the thing I never wanted had
happened again.
I never wanted it, but
it’s found me, followed me.
I need to be reminded more than others
that humans cannot live
with cold hands and hearts.

You are the same person.
Nothing has changed.
And yet, something has been
rearranged
inside me, crept into the recess of my
soul, to bind me
to an ideal I had forgot,
locked inside a cold forbidden box
and hid away.
Too many times I’ve tried
to understand why we need love.
Sometimes it seems easier to just forget
the feeling exists, to pretend
that forever alone is the only way
people can ever be.

But if I did that I would miss out on this
on 3am laughter
and crooked smiles
and all the reasons I can call you beautiful.