provoked.

long hard night of warning rains and strobe au natural. our feet getting wet. the porch slippery. words and silence dancing methodically in and out of the lines of conversation surrounding exactly what we don't want to talk about anymore. we never wanted to touch it to begin with.

it came pouring down.

i looked out the window, and there you were, walking in the gutter, staring at your toes as water dripped and fell over your collapsed face, your pointed feet.

shivering and needing it, we sat on that soppy porch, sprayed with rain, and touched that tender, raw subject that makes you cry. and hacksaws don't have your kind of edge.

i was worried about you.