rainy tuesdays

But then I remember I once tried to carve poetry against my wrist before I realized that there is nothing beautiful in breaking.

I learn my lessons by ruining myself in the process.

On my TV screen, a magician talks about the record for holding one’s breath as his assistant lowers herself into a tank of water. It’s twenty two minutes. I would have sworn it would be longer. I would have sworn it would be years.

II.

This is how I remember it: On our first date, he ran his fingertips across my skin like he was reading my palm. When I fell asleep with my glasses on, He slid them off and cleaned them, then placed them on my nightstand, every single time. Once, I took a sip of wine, shrugged, and set my glass down on the table. He poured it down the sink. Then the entire bottle. He said, life is too short for bad wine. He said, you deserve better.

III.

God, I love doing magic tricks. I love the way I know the lie from the beginning. I love the way I can see the turn coming.

IV.

This is the hardest part– That boy is not made of fists. This is the hardest part– That boy learned how to braid my hair. These things do not un-truth themselves when the first door slams. I did not stop loving him all the months I was holding my breath. This is the hardest part, the way a fish is still a fish even after she’s been gutted. Even after her lip’s split clean in half from the hook and the hook and the hook; Do you think the fish blames herself? And her own stupid, open mouth? Do you think the fisherman apologized? Said all he wanted was to hold her? Said, I’ve touched that hook for years and it never once pierced me, darling, how could I have known? Do you think the fish forgave him? Said, I’m sorry, too. I promise I’ll try harder to breathe outside the water.

V.