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Biding Time
2012-06-01 // 7:14 p.m.

You can take me now, I'm ready.

I have been reading your diary, studying the words between the lines. Getting to know the way you trace your finger along the page as you read, re-read, edit, re-read everything you write. I have fingered the smudges left on the screen and memorized the whirling patterns in your prints. I know you, I know this.

I have been studying up, yes. Book after book, all of them ones that you have read, shelved, re-read, dog-eared. This is an essay for you, in pieces and parts. Poems and paragraphs and stories about you, always about you. Using the first person was a ruse.

I have been biding my time, writing when you write; breathing when you breathe. Measuring out my life in days, months, years, as long as it takes. Waiting. And I will be yours. Now, today. Tomorrow if we must.

You open your palms to me. Line upon line, layered. Words written a week ago in ink, reminders and jumping off points. You shrug your shoulders and let me go.


secret sharing - 2012-06-23
telling my mother's stories - 2012-06-18
power - 2012-06-14
amicable - 2012-06-11
secret place - 2012-06-03