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Un-Cracked

Poetry & Prose | February 5, 2018

you said it as if you were trying it out: as if those words were

round and had a radius just taller than your mouth, as if you were making

space for them, deliberately, intentionally. in a way that i knew you meant them, you held them

like an uncracked egg.

 

 

the other day i had a flashback, the trigger was just that i couldn’t pick music, and i was mostly naked and

crouching on your floor scrolling through spotify, in your house that runs probably at 60 degrees which is Not

Too Cold when we are in bed together, or in the mornings when the sun has beat the house gently for a few

hours before we’ve woken up.

 

 

i love you had to come after all that, of course

it did, that day i was crouching and you were

so different, you didn’t care at all what music

i played. you didn’t scoff or hurl “Really??” too loudly

across the room at me when i suggested something

a little off center. and when all of sudden it was him

and not you in the room, and i never cry anymore but

i started to, and the tears were so loud against

your comforter, you said what i needed, and then

it wasn’t too much to ask for a tissue even though

neither of us has an easy time getting out of your bed,

and when you came back you held me until

i felt un-cracked again.