she is leaving, but he is not. she has already left me, but him -
i have yet to meet. i don't know at what point i lost her: when she got on the plane?
she flew:up, up, up, defying gravity. weightless, tiptoes barely grazing the earth.
maybe she got lost in the wisps of wet, floating clouds. maybe i lost her to mother nature,
to the open black sky, like a wet hungry mouth, swallowing her whole.
my friends will tell me, "she hasn't left you. she's still there." but they don't know. i have lost her, but i have found him. the two have been mingling, simmering for years, like oil and water,
desperate to detach - to cut off a blackened limb. and i see them, both, even though they are not with me. and i wonder, how paintstaking it was for him to live with her, and her to live with him.
i miss her - so - much.
i hope when i look into his eyes i'll see her glinting in that wetness, girl inside boy. for years, they lived boy inside girl, like - there is no metaphor occuring in nature that strikes me as similar.
i know i will struggle with words for years to come, to describe the boy inside girl. but i will always have her, always.
i know i do not need to miss her, or him, or either - maybe she is neither - but i will always have them pumping through my bloodstream, ryhtmically, reminding me of home.