I don't expect you to forgive me
for laughing almost
uncontrollably
that time, a few nights ago,
when you confessed
that you yourself, like
the men we saw
on television, had once
been touched
inappropriately
by your youth group leader.
It wasn't that I was trying
to make light of it,
but it seemed so
convenient, to explain
why you struggled with faith
in the unseen, why
you thought the powers
in front of our eyes
were so much greater
than anything
we could imagine
with our minds. Once,
just after we were finished
reading each other's
love notes,
I rose up aggressively
behind your back. I promise
I wasn't intending
to scare you. I simply
couldn't imagine
that you were afraid
of things rising
and never again
falling back down,
like the cross shape
on your chest,
which I always thought
was a reminder
to keep breathing,
over and over
like a sea breeze,
over and over
like a sea breeze,
no matter how hard
the silhouettes around you
pressed down on your stomach
and wouldn't release.
Dang, that was powerful.
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