when you find her, she is curved-spine crumpled in a bathtub, broken song trapped under her tongue, face a crumpled mascara run.
you get her home. you tuck her under the covers your grandmother knit. they smell like lilacs. you don’t sleep here. you curl up in the corner of a public library. you are nocturnal tenancies, you are twilight awakening. your afternoon comes at three in the morning.
you come back and gentle-help her, quiet hands offering first bar of soap and then thick towel and then small breakfast she won’t eat.
you are simple ways. you do not give her your phone number, you are steady-get-to-know-her. the months pass and you do not pressure. you are lightweight, you are heather.
the bags under your eyes get thicker. you are so tired but you know nothing of rest.
on a broken-glass night too loud for your silence, she kisses you while she’s too drunk to talk herself out of it. you politely decline, you leave the room, you go to a cold rocky beach, you sit there while the water laps at your feet.
it is raining and she is happy and she is curled up in your lap and this time when she kisses you, you are royalty, you are crown, you are thick coats and desperate voices, the two of you are scrambling for purchase in each other’s skin, you are leaving happy bruises, you are soft moans and laughter and every time you touch her, you marvel at her.
later when you curl up beside her and breathe in the smell of her hair, you are floating, you are iris petal. she has cracked you open and found the only beautiful parts of you left. she makes you feel as if you are complete.
you lie there, listening to her breathe. for the first time in forever, you finally drift off to sleep."