Life was piercing our hearts with the same threaded needle, and stitching them back together. I came to know you through the holes that it made, as the source of my soul's numbing and ceaseless pain... when really, it was the weather. the rain, paired with a lack of air, when lungs filled with water, were left with no space to breathe. I loved you... deep as the sea loves the shallow breeze that is sweeping across its face. knowing that I cant take you in [that you wont fit], but still being here like the mitt of the Catcher, to remind you that I will always have your back... arms for your hug, and an outlet for your plug, when life isn't feeding you enough salt water blood-current through the wires of your veins. There is a piece of string, too small to see, that runs through both of our empty spaces alike. And when I make a call, you are always the voice that answers on the other end of the line. and even though the signal isn't perfect every time, as we keep in touch through our red ((beating)) cups, you can always reach out, and count on the Plan, and the intent in the bones of my hands, to pick up.
"Red Cups (callme.)" by nicole m. spinelli
