I loved you like a woman loves a man she never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have loved you more, if I’d been close enough to smile at the sound of you pissing in the bathroom while I worked on our novel. If touching had become reality, instead of your frustrated motherfucka curses, damning the screen that allowed us to see, not touch. Would’ve let myself love completely if I knew you were (for) real.

I still do, you know…love you like a woman loves a man she never touches. Only writes to and keeps little photographs of. Alone never felt right–sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right. Those could be your words. Alone has never been your comfort zone. Not really. You, a lion among wolves. And something is hurting you. That’s why you need pot or gin. Or endless porn. Or screaming beats turned up so fucking loud you don’t have to think. I know you’re like the dog who got across the busy street—it wasn’t just luck. It pays to be a tough son-of-a-bitch, the world belongs to the strong. You live this reality. I wonder what keeps you coming back to me? Wonder what made you want me in the first place? Did my eyes say love loudly? Have they fucked you forever? Was it because I loved your brain. Your smile. Your hurt. More than your street-smart persona.

‘Cause I loved you like a woman loves a man she never touches. Your txts got briefer. And I betrayed you. See how I threw that in there? Like it’s no big thing. But we both know it is. Both know that’s the kind of shit choice that changes everything. Though changes don’t always mean endings. Hurting you made me climb out of bed in the morning thinking I’m not gonna make it. But then I laughed inside, remembering all the times I’ve felt that way. All the times I thought the pain was too much to stand. All the times it turned out that love failed, and life went on. Baby, I wanted to write, I love you like a woman loves a man she never touches, only writes to. And sends pictures to. And btw, all lovers betray. It’s part of loving. Betrayal. You have, or will, do it to me too. All we get to do is decide which loves are worth bleeding over and forgiving anyway, and which ones make us cut and run. ‘Cause everyone is gonna let you down. Everyone. Sooner or later.

So I loved you like a woman loves a man she never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I wanted so much that is not here and I didn’t know where to go. How to actuate. I wanted to be with you, it was as simple and complicated as that. Some days I allowed myself to dream…we were in bed together laughing. Meanwhile things go on. I wanted you to be the one I wanted in my mind and my gut and my bathroom. But that feels so real and an ocean of water and years and cultures separates us. Makes me wonder if you and me could ever be real. I love you, but I don’t know what to do. Nobody can save us but ourselves. Poetry is just what happens when nothing else can and we are here laughing at the odds.