new draft- manic depressives make good lovers... half of the time

beautiful, silly, and enigmatic

that was how he described me
but damn the boy was always
in front of a mirror

his reflection was all over the place
and his image captured
everywhere we went
by friends and acquaintances
with devices meant for proving
real life was real

he was the "it kid"

she thinks about the day they met
with every detail she can
hold in her tiny hands.

the radiohead drifting in from
open bedroom door
the clouds of hookah smoke
the hot chocolate laced with
liquid courage
the hour it took her to
say hello
the five seconds it took
her to scald his leg with
her clumsy hands and cheap liqour

we met in cafeterias
and i loved him
but
everyone wanted to be near him
and i never got
why i was the one
that got to sleep
skin to skin

the weeks after are more
fuzzy
the late nights blurring into
early mornings
never sure which was which
until the sun interrupted

she never understood how they
made the night go away
so quickly

never got comfortable
every night of sleep
there was this constant
self-awareness
even in dreams
each shudder of his leg
each arm adjustment

i was so sure he
was going to leave me
i didn't sleep for that entire
winter
despite how warm his body
was then

he was always on dub speed
the words faster
than chipmunks
but she always remembered
them
the next day
would write him into plays

he was bob dylan
in that city
rambling like he was
born that way
and i never fancied
myself joan baez
i wanted to so bad
but couldn't see the
beauty he claimed
illuminated even against snow

i steered us clear
of washington square
and when he tried to offer me
diamonds
i just saw rust
in the icy snow
splattered like
blood

spattered like blood

maybe my memories
are getting mixed up

like the time i got a concussion when
i was a baby and got a Happy Meal
in the emergency room

and that's how she
remembers him
now
she forgets all of
the things that hid
behind the haze
of first love

the days without a call
the nights she couldn't
recognize him
because the bottle was too empty again
the apologies left with kisses
on discolored arm skin
the dna left on the
note she could never
bear
to open
the semester it took to
recover
from having nothing else
left of him

there was no snow there
just linoleum
both times

they asked me
if it was him
to take my time
to be sure

but his reflection was
everywhere
in the metal walls, the tables
colder than his body
had become

and he wasn't beautiful anymore
wasn't silly
like in all of the pictures

five years
and those pictures
stay in the box
with the letter
and even though the
glue has come undone
on its own, she still
won't open it
won't read his words.

she's already written him
into history
and he's got no say
it's probably better that way
legends
are never self-made
and they always love you more
when you're gone.