discharge and the remains

I loved you, he hushes, because you told me a story about fire. Because you innately understand what most people don’t about nature and violence. violence in nature. the nature of violence. He mumbles something. Muffled by his hand. A sheet. Nothing outright. Inaudible strains like plucking the metal chords from inside the piano. What is it that I know? He jumps again. Skips like a dusty record, It’s the one about fire. I remember the moment. Have forgotten the words. Not for insignificance, but because my mind never knows what to hold on to. All I ever really do is tell useless stories.

Apologies always produce these groping explanations for loving me. And I wait for it to fall. Crash and break. I’ve left the key hidden. You know where it is. In a magnetized box underneath the grill. I’m sorry. I’m sure he means it. I didn’t plan on being gone. I understand. Already missing those moments we won’t get to spend together. As he rambles about the ways she makes him feel, I make a promise not to do this again.