Me. He is something I misunderstand, brand as difficult but necessary; it’s important that I take that ride, slide into the seat next to him and breathe. Easy to heave these words at the world, hurl them into the air where their weight consumes gravity. His thoughts gravitate into my hemisphere – it’s clear he’s not all here. He spends his future hanging out in mine, whining about his pain and what I did to him…I gave him love – he issued tickets with no cash-in value. It’s true I’m a bit*ch but time refines the minutes used up, it neatens our stitches, casts misty looks into the past and heals all ills. If only…

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