now.
this is not a letter to you. i am not that foolish. the cardinal points have betrayed me again. time zones shift like seasons, and my heart is made of many layers; do you see how thin they have become? i am being devoured by your silence, by your easy submission. you always told me you wouldn't go without a fight, yet i see clearly now. you are a man made of syllables. you are all vowels, no backbone. your spine is full of commas, of dangling participles, of run on promises. i tried to annotate the spaces between your hips, i came up empty. i thought this all meant so much more. i thought i was the final chapter. i do not want to meet your conclusions with reason. only with anger. i once called you a white flag; now you are an iceberg. you are the blindfold as i stand in the execution line. every man has a gun, and every man has your face. i am never prepared.