Ever read something you wish you would have written yourself, it’s so perfectly done, so perfectly fits the shadows in your heart? Yeah. That’s this. (To you, though you may not see this, this is how I feel about us.)
We’d share a call and response every night, phones pressed between cheek and pillow 20.7 miles away. It was an incantation lulling lovers to pass from one consciousness to another. Your voice digitized, reflecting off faux pine towers or maybe even orbiting satellites, reached me through technologies I’d never appreciate or understand.
But now, I’ve forgotten the words we’d sleep to even though they’d been repeated over two thousand continuous nights. I’ve forgotten how you’d nodded off the first time we’d talked on the phone and how I’d dialed digits so the tones would wake you. I’ve forgotten the time exhaustion took us, and we’d attempt to speed through our lullaby until we realized it had no power unless spoken with sincerity and purpose. And I’ve forgotten the nights there was no need for a call because you’d be with me, skin touching skin and our energies sparking. We’d still…
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a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind
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