A fixer-upper of a lover,
you would run your hands
through my hair like
you were maintaining a house.
We stormed, we stammered,
we struggled to see behind
our own eyes,
and still the rain came.
The same squabbles cycled between us:
a million mirrors in a single mirror;
a million fears in a single fear.
I heard you already but you won’t stop talking.
I’m balking at all this responsibility
and to be honest, I doubt my own abilities.
The calm we had was just the eye of the storm.
Before hereafter, we thought we had escaped
the dice of life, the thunder of lightning,
the stain of spilled ink.
But now, with holes ripped into our diaries,
the future seems more now than there.
I wish we were back at the fair
that night you proposed
with one knee on a Ferris wheel.
O, how elated you could make me feel.
I wish you could funnel me back up into heaven
instead, we are battening down the hatches,
barring, blocking, holding, hiding, surviving.
I love you…
…but I don’t even know who you are anymore.
Now, will you share the cellar with me or
are you going outside to join the storm?