Say No, Say Yes

They tell me a plane is just the ticket, that silence is best kept. That I should say nothing to you, wait and if you come back on your own, then it's true. No, I should sit outside your door. Yes, while you sleep I should cover from your doorstep to where you're going with poetry, with your name and mine, entwined. That you should find me, charcoal in hand, in the middle of the night, outside your window. Or maybe say nothing, tell you it's okay, that I know nothing and everything can happen from this moment on. That whatever's next will break us down or apart, or into pieces so small we'll never be able to find them all. I make a fool of myself; I'm unsure. You'd laugh, but it's true, you turn a small part of me inside out, make me reconsider the cool silences between last night and this one. I imagine I can close my eyes, smell your hair, the points of your fingers dancing warm on mine. Neither of us need love, neither of us think this is wise. From two people who're known for being pragmatic realists it's a dangerous propostion. Maybe we should turn away, smother a flustering flame in sand and sky. Maybe I should stop imagining your smile coming easy, stop running your name over my tongue like a sweet. This is all possibility, you know?

What matters, here? Really? That if you were here I'd have long ago laughed when you grew wild and afraid, kissed your eyes, held my hand against your runaway heart until you were calm and sure. If this is distance that made you fall towards the horizon and distance alone, know this - I will unravel every mile between us. It means nothing to me. Haven't you figured it out by now? It's all possibility. And you, it's you.