May 8, 2011

I miss you, which is ridiculous. You aren’t even mine to miss.

I know, I know what this is. I can feel it coming, storm or blood or hunger, darkness in the horizon. Gold in the bones, heavy and cold. Blood in the belly. Same difference, this taste of something rolling up over the edge of land. Or something underneath the water, grey and green and murky, tasting of salt and bitterness. Acid. Sweet as air, rippling the surface. You. The lake stretches towards the furthest destination, the sky as clouded as the water, heavy as your eyelids.

I miss you. I want you. I don’t want to want you but I’m not sure how to stop the water from surging over my fingers and smacking me in the face. Cold and silted and green as mud. I hate the taste of it.

It is like learning how not to breathe.

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