distance (part thirty-two)

I am sick and my mind is cloudy,
are you patient enough to wait for it to clear?

I am busy and my mind is jumbled,
wait for me to piece it back together?

I am uninspired and my mind is tired,
think you can wait?

I ask you to wait,
I plead with you, silently,
as if there was some red hot spark that flared whenever we touched hands.
As if we ever touched hands.
As if we ever came close.
As if we ever saw each other on a regular basis.

I pray you for patience,
as if you were sitting by the telegraph,
waiting for the morse code to beat its way through my chest--
a rhythm you might possibly maybe be able to decipher into words,
but let's be honest--my heart only beats that quickly
and loud enough to hear
when I'm not expecting it.

The power had been lost in the surplus store.
We were only wandering through it to look for props.
I kept making you laugh all through that weekend--how sick were you of laughing? I'm sorry.

How does my mind keep coming back to you?
I keep having all these pipe dreams about men,
Men I'll never have, but maybe...
They are as flesh and blood and pulsing creativity as you,
but somehow,
you are more real to me.

And perhaps that it is why this line feels tauter,
why my core glows brighter,
why the cogs and wheels in my mind turn faster to come up with ways of including you in my thoughts.

I am uninspired in writing,
but saturated with influence
in thinking of you.

-Dana Winter