phantasiae
you have imagined every permutation of this moment and still, when it comes, you grasp at only wind and words that when it comes down to it, you never really say
in one scenario you tell her: you are my wind chimes, my melody my hardwood floors without the mundanity of sturdiness without fail and grace without stumble but no-one quite understands your metaphor as no-ones often do
in another, you say: here are the blooming flowers and here are my words to you in bold and when she curls her hand around yours everything comes spilling out and you didn’t want her to know but then you say
maybe i made the whole world up inside my head, maybe none of this is real maybe what defines love is really pain and so i will never know it the way i have my whole life wanted to
and in this one, too, she walks away they always do they always do
