I hesitate to tell you I know
the feeling exactly as you outline.
To comfort you would be to admit
the truth, that I'm not fine.
The black and blue of your bruise
is the violet against my sunken eyelids,
causing grateful shadows on pallid cheeks
wishing for peace that my mind forbids.
And the fleeting smiles that you describe
spend moments upon my lips too,
flitting teasingly upon the edges
but darting away at sorrows cue.
I found the pieces of the map you burnt
sailing freely through the air,
relieved to be safe from your demanding task,
not having to wait and compare.
I caught them swiftly in shaking hands,
burning welts into my skin.
I tried to chase them all, mimicking joy,
as they flew high, my collection ending thin.
The dragging weight will have to wait
as we take fresh paper and fresh pen
to draw a new map, work together
to find our way again.