We are lovers who do not know how to be friends.
We are friends who do not know how to be platonic.
We are the piles of unmailed letters that linger in your desk
drawers, addressed with my name, dated two years ago.
We are postcards with Wish you were here! written in bad
cursive large enough to excuse the lack of a real sentiment.
We are bouquets of fresh cut flowers already wilting,
because we don’t know each other well enough to buy something
that will last. We are the feeling before a kiss, anticipation
of creation, of sparks or fireworks or gunshots aimed straight
for the heart. We are the unopened text messages, the unread
Facebook notifications, the unanswered voicemails, the
ever-present What if?s that keep the world up at night. We are
the magicians that have forgotten the code of never telling
the audience that we are mortal just like them. We are priests who
have learned to pray to the wrong god asking for the wrong thing.
We are lovers who do not know how to love.
We are friends who do not know how not to love.