finding your way back

trying to use words to describe what it means. what i think i might not want to know, i drink. undiluted vodka from a clear glass. and try not to contemplate the things i feel or how he plans to fly in soon. arrive at my door to kiss like old lovers. i close my eyes. think about how any body isn’t what either of us need. even steeped in the thickness of friendship, adoration, and time. because there’s more to life than just that. ask him to talk about something else. he wants to know how and i don’t have the words. can’t say that i feel like i keep falling down onto the same miserable patch of ice. that i’m nothing more than a liar. how we run in endless circles around each other. i want to hang up the line, but his breathing fades—the innumerable evidence that there’s someone else out there that could give a fuck in these moments when i’m fading and faded. we’re both full up on bad choices and longing for redemption, i say, all the while meaning it terribly—wholly. he cries when i read this room and everything in it ‘cause it’s the only thing i’ve got at the moment. it’s the only words—not mine—that can describe the way things go unceasingly and without intention. we go our ways. the same useless patterns we walked the day before and the day before that. we promise to change, but we won’t. don’t. i can still hear his words before the end of it all. and i didn’t promise. didn’t feel any need. because it’s not what i need or want for this life or anything like it.