Like Breaking Backwards into a State of Repair

Tell me that your favorite color is the color of dust. Or that
you like it best when I lie to you. Tell me that there are spaces scattered
across the world where you’ve left pieces of yourself and if I can find them
all then I can have you. Tell me that there are only five things that I really
need to know about you and only two of those are true.

In return I could tell you that when I close one eye at a
time I can see the way that shadows can: everything off to one side, muted,
somehow more beautiful. Or that my favorite color is the color of dying stars.
Or that I once drank wine out of a conch shell and it tasted salty and sweet
like the waves.

Tell me that when you wake up in the mornings you sometimes can’t
remember how to pronounce your own name. Or that as a child you liked every flavor
of bubblegum but especially the ones that colored your tongue when you chewed
them for too long. Or how when you go running you sometimes feel like you’re
actually falling forward quickly.

And I’ll tell you about the time I played cards for your
heart and kept losing on purpose. Or the time I washed my hands until the lines
came off and then I couldn’t tell what could be read there anymore. Or how once
I lay down to sleep and woke up wanting everything.

And then you can tell me that you love me and I’ll listen until
I don’t know what to tell you back.

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