the power of magnetism

aches so deep they're wrapped around my joints, rather than throbbing through my muscles, and I can only feel them when I extend my legs, so I do, I raced up the stairs two at a time to feel those aches, that reminder that there are consequences for who I was,

for my own sake, and that of modesty, and my propensity to avoid embarrassments, I think to myself, I won't tell anyone, but as soon as they saw my face and heard my voice, they knew, and my inability to keep myself a secret from anyone fell and I blurted it out in the worst way possible. of course.

all I can see when I close my eyes are his, staring at me, soft and kind, his smile bemused, his head sideways on the pillow, but up enough so that he can see me with both his eyes. when I think about all the pain we've shared, I am amazed that there is still so much love in those eyes for me. and even though a lot must change for love to grow between us again, I see its tendrils curling around me and it is a beautiful thing to recognize.

I distract myself with things purchased: a fuchsia slip that I will wear alone. a sweater I might wear for my birthday. a knit hat to replace the one I've lost somewhere [the cab, the apartment filled with everything but books, the apocalyptic streets]. I distract myself with food, but nothing fills me up: a chocolate doughnut, a soy mocha, a crack sandwich, a plate of pineapple fried rice, spinach rangoons, thai iced coffee, and still there is room for more, for me. I distract myself with the Pan-like time fritterings of the internet, and though I feel a slight sense of satisfaction, I know it will quickly rot into paranoia and fear, for I will wonder if my ways of speaking went too far, as they seem to usually do, and once again I will have to stand by and defend my actions, as ludicrous as they might be.

I try not to stare at my phone, as if the instant I glance away he will call, but I know he won't, for I am synonymous with the things in his life that cause him problems. things that force him to spin out of control, and he must not engage in me; he even has a note on his fridge that says, "stop thinking about her."

though I long to be part of what's good for him, to present him with the best of myself, when I get near him, my facade crumbles and my mean parts seem pulled magnetically forward by a force stronger than myself, and I even suffered a strike of nausea so strong and so concentrated that I had to double over to stifle it in order to hold back from simply being mean.

tonight I will be reminded that being a great person has something to do with the company you keep, and dustin's is magnanimous, shiny, keen and brilliant, and in his glow there is room for anything to show up, but especially the things he favors, and his favor is strong. he has no magnetism for negativity, and it shows.

I cannot hate myself for being human, for having these hard knots of hate, and I cannot hate him for not knowing the difference between spite and confusion, for it has sounded like one and the same for a long time. and there may not be a difference really, in fact it may just be my defense.