You: a poem

You’re the one who calls in the middle of the night just to have someone to breathe with.

You’re the one who wants me to save you, but instead I say things like “Only you can save yourself.”

You’re the one who keeps hoping I’ll change my mind.

You’re the one who makes wishes on dandelions.

You’re the one who thinks I’m more beautiful than I am and makes me want to believe that could be true.

You’re the one who dreams fiction into reality.

You’re the one who gets angry at bad endings.

You’re the one who ties my breath in knots over silence.

You’re the one who fills the spaces between the notes, when all I wanted was a rest stop.

You’re the one who keeps talking.

You’re the one who never finishes one story before starting another.

You’re the one who fears blank pages, yet craves beginnings.

You’re the one who meets me on stormy street corners to talk about the weather.

You’re the one who insists I hold the umbrella.

You’re the one who has a hundred metaphors for wetness.

You’re the one who feels me up in public restrooms.

You’re the one who needs to talk about it later.

You’re the one who writes to ask what I’m thinking even though I just left you.

You’re the one who wonders if I’m thinking what you’re thinking even though I stopped thinking about you the moment I read your letter.

You’re the one who spins my forgetfulness into an art form.

You’re the one who forgives me for things you shouldn’t.

You’re the one who gives me gifts I don’t want and gets mad that I don’t know how to thank you.

You’re the one who promises you’ll fail me. You never do.

You’re many different people, but all of them are you.

It’s ok. Sometimes you’re me too.

Originally published April 3, 2003

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