You Happened to Me, Parts I-III


“She’s a good person, you know.”

“I know.”

“She deserves.”




The bath grew cold twenty minutes ago. Water fills the gaps between her toes like air fills her lungs. (Vital.) (Necessary.) She tilts her head onto the tile, the hard surface relentless against her scalp, forcing her to forget.

At least here. At least now.

She is not remembering; she is listening to the methodical, meticulous drip-drip of the leaky faucet that the landlord refuses to fix. What once was her vexation is now her solace. Funny how things change.


And just like that, she is sucked back in, drowning in the mirage of what she once knew, melting into a horizon of revelation.

Heartache is no longer a hyperbole when it screams inside one’s chest.

She inhales, exhales, inhales and disappears beneath the agitated surface, entering a pool of sensory deprivation. But she is not deprived of her mind.

He is there and you are there. You’re there because you’re him.


You happened to me

On an ideal day

At an ideal time

In an ideal place


I painted you in pointillism

Made brushstrokes of your cubism

But we were never surrealism

Only caught up in impressionism


You were particles

Seeking me to make you whole

I was already whole


Then you happened to me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s