day twelve: tenuous

after

it was so tenuous

everything

i could have lain on my bed, and fallen asleep under myour purple woolen blanket
i could have written in my journal, drawn you a picture, written today's poem
i could have done some free-running, which, as i walked away from you, seemed the thing my body most wanted to do

instead
i have spent the past five hours
doing every possible thing other than.
using every single avoidance tactic
known. mixing strange foods, washing dishes, crying about unrelated things, studying portuguese and japanese

every once in a while
stopping and wondering
why i was not stopping to dwell
before jumping back in
to worrying about lidia or my mother
or washing another plate or turning the heat on and off

e'en now
i cannot reflect
perhaps it is too beautiful
too fragile
if i even look
it might break