Not A Million Soldiers Could Take You From Me

Any threat, from your father or forces higher – gods or police officers – isn’t enough to stop me.

I read stories in which people leave other people on alters to follow you in streets, to learn how you sleep.

Any sleepover we have is The Exorcist, I Know What You Did Last Summer. I don’t mean costumes and masks, but unsettling, short, inconclusive.

Every past tense or present participle – hiring, doing, eating – is you making beds, taking showers, us buying houses, having having having.

If you had asked on our first night, the first time we broke the other’s personal space, I would not say we would know each other now, or that adversary was something that happened outside of books, film plots.

I delete your voicemails but you aren’t erasable like pencil which isn’t really erasable either unless you’ve pressed so softly there’s little or no indentation at all. And trust, I couldn’t press softly enough.

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