my lips are chapped.

"i am walking out in the rain, i am listening to the low moan of the dialtone again. i am getting nowhere with you. i can't let it go. i can't get through... both hands, now use both hands... oh no, don't close your eyes. i am writing graffitti on your body. i am drawing the story of how hard we tried. i am watching your chest rise and fall, like the tides of my life, and the rest of it all."

---ani difranco.

my baby still hasn't come back to me, but i see him in those eyes. the ventilator, up and down, all day, all night. the slow whistle, like a soft snore, of air in and out of his lungs that don't work yet.

god, i need him back.

i sleep in his apartment now. i spend minutes to hours flipping through his books, touching his clothes, drowning the noise in my brain with television.

his cat is confused, and my exhaustion is setting in.

nine in the morning until nine at night, i can talk to him and touch him and hear his voice in my head. then i come back here to people who live their lives on a daily basis who kiss their boyfriends who know their plans who eat dinner who feel fulfilled.

but my life closes at nine every night, and it doesn't open until the charge nurse says so.

i'd do anything to see him smile.

we've just got to get him back in his body, breathing and beating. that's all, just get him back in there to take care of this.

someone, please.