Page 97 - The Bridge Vol 17_pgs

VOLume 17

Eventually, I surrendered. So maybe it wasn’t.

I was too fucking high.

I woke up nestled against you, instinctively seeking your protection from the haze of pain. You were
sleeping so peacefully, your eyelashes dusting dainty shadows across your high cheekbones.

I still think you’re beautiful. So maybe it wasn’t.

For a few minutes, I forgot what happened. In the crushing midmorning light of late summer, I still
loved you.

So maybe it wasn’t.

The heat was unbearable. Did you turn off the fan? There was a thumbprint across my wrist. Una
pulsera.

I was quiet on the way to the train station. You called me by my middle name, an attempt to make me
hate-laugh at you. When I didn’t, you touched my cheek.

“¿Que pasó, amor?”

Fuck, this is my chance. Right here. The bruises between my legs are screaming.

Say it. Say it. Say it.

Can I say it to you? Can I say it to your face right here? Looking into your eyes. Ojitos stolen from a
cat or an owl. The color of sunlight through a leaf.

Can I say it?

I can’t. My throat is closing.

Say it. Say something. Anything.

(Inhala)

“I feel kind of weird about last night.”

(Exhala)

Your face, a mask.

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