distance (part ten)

I'm running out of metaphors.
I'm running out of analogies and similes and even good imagery.

I'm running out of ways to seem light-hearted with my friends who live far away. I'm trying to think of ways to seem nice to a friend when all I want to do is show tough love.

I need to yell at my friends. I need to yell at my relatives. I need to yell at the blonde sports writer who hasn't bothered me since a week after we met for drinks, but who I feel is, while owed an explanation, also needing to be taken by the shoulders and shaken. Shook. Get shook, man.

I'm running out of good humor and patience.

I'm running out of ways to tell you that I want you, short of constantly waxing poetic about the fact, or bugging you with messages.

I'm running out of ways to tell if you want me, at all.

I'm running out of faith.

I feel like I'm running out of time when it comes to you. I'm running out of gas in the tank, bandages for the blisters on my feet, and supplies for a perfect communion.

I'm running out and standing completely still.

The sky and the air felt like this on the day I found out that the car had rolled over.

-Dana Winter