Undecipherable

The rocks or the waves; you can’t tell which one you are…worse still, which one is which.  Deciding where one thing begins and where one ends is something you’ve never been good at defining—it’s the reason your silverware drawer is a pill to open and why you can’t remember who came first: Jake or Lucas…or was it Leandro?

Teaspoons and tablespoons go largely undefined in your presence as do salad forks and dinner forks. You carelessly toss them in so they crisscross, lock and ungracefully spill into one another with sharp hostility and nest. Forging a mêlée of edges you know your fingers won’t be able to emerge unscathed from the next time you dare to reach. Utensils come with a fight, much like your memory.     

Rehashing yesterday’s love songs could make anyone raw and a bit unnerved, but being unable to confidently see the face of the person’s pants you were unzipping when you heard it can really fuck you up and loosen a couple screws.  Shoulders lose their curvature, eyes their color, whispers their breadth and depth of tone till the only thing you have to anchor you is a month and three possibilities tallied in a diary you forgot you even kept till you needed it.  You still can’t decide, is that even worth keeping?

The way the fog congregates and swells around your head makes it damn near impossible to see past your nose.  Or maybe that’s your bangs.  They haven’t been cut in a while.  They shag at an awkward level that lets them brush up against your lashes.  You like the way it feels when you close your eyes.  Butterfly kisses that bristle and caress the base of your lids.  Small sensations that make you involuntarily inhale and unknowingly wake with child.  But it doesn’t look flattering.  You’re sure of it.  Almost.  You’d go fix it now if you could remember where you put their card, or if you even grabbed one as you ran out.

Your coffee’s cold now—rendered useless, though you’re not sure you ever had much of a use for it—you remove the lid and give it some momentum.  Let the wind do the rest.  Watch it carry it up and over in one graceful swoop to greet its first death, or second, who are you to judge? It merges with the mist and breaks mercilessly against the rocks below, where it scatters into a million crystals that swirl and glisten defiantly in the sun ‘till it’s reunited with a force that drives it asunder to wind it up again. And you lean over the ledge and wonder, would you ever look as beautiful and broken crashing?

You can’t see that you already are.  

That you lost your footing, and forgot about the railing.  And never once grabbed for the belly that, despite yourself, was quietly trying to grow something inside. 

You just fall.

And leave the divvying of sinew and bone up to the elements, allowing them to rhythmically fracture parts equally you and not you, 'till you become what you always wanted.  Undecipherable.