does he know that i still see him? in the blank white wall,in the patterns in the rug, the bracelets on my wrists. he resides in them. he has melted into them, and appears if you stare too hard, or too long, or just long enough to catch a glimpse of him. and he stares right back. he glares at you straight on. its so intense you try to pull away and he pulls you right back in. and in that moment you submerge. you cannot breathe, or break his hold. he suffocates you with his stare and you are his. you cease to exist as your own entity; your body, your words, aren't yours anymore. you want to mouth "I'm sorry" but discover your lips are sealed by an electrifying force that's also pushing down on your chest, restricting your breathing. he leaves a kiss on your cheek. you don't see him kiss you, but your cheek burns with it. and then you realize that the burning sensation is from the tears that are steadily streaming down your face. but they're not washing away the invisible outline of his lips, they're burning the skin where the kiss and the salty rivers touch. the tears transform. they turn red, they deepen. and suddenly they aren't tears rolling down your cheeks anymore. they're the drops of blood rolling down his arms. they flow along the skin towards his fingers, tracing the outline of his knuckles, over the bumps, meandering towards the tips. they hang suspended at the tips just for a moment before dropping through the air. they catch the light and you are mesmerized by their brilliance before they splat on the white linoleum. and all of a sudden, that brilliant sparkle dies as it hits the floor. the drops are not longer glistening on the linoleum, they are dead and lifeless. they are ugly and dark and opaque. and you wipe up the cuts carelessly. they dry. they fade. but they don't fade enough. i can still see the stories they tell on your forearms. i read each line over and over again, absorbing its story. some tell the story of a time before me, before there was an us. but other lines stare up at me accusingly. they are the lines that have my name etched into them. i kiss those lines. i want my lips to wipe them away but they only grow darker, more vivid. those lines will never fade so long as i am there. they stare at me and expose the hatred brimming underneath. they threaten to burst open again, flood the room until the bottom of my pants are soaked through in their hatred. and then i feel the burning on my cheeks and i realize that I'm crying harder now. crying because we're not perfect. crying because I fear that I will wake up and there will be a pulsating emptiness where my heart should be, and I will know that you no longer are. you are so beautiful, you have no defense. you are made of glass. if i hold you too tightly you will shatter, leaving tiny little marks all over my skin that no one else will see. if i hold you too gingerly a wind will come along and sweep you away. i'm staring at the pattern in the rug and your eyes fade away again, and its just the soft wool and floral print. and i know you will reappear again, for we are wed in this life. strung along on the same path.