"How tired are you today? Let me see your elbow." The rain is around our ankles. We ate language forty-two ways because it took practice to taste the difference. I told you that I missed your mistakes,
"The bridges always learned so much from you. They've grown dilapidated in your absence. Sit with me now – we'll watch them rust together."
"Sorry, I'm not as strong as you."
"That's an illegitimate claim."
"How dare you foster lamp shades like that?"
"I won't stop unless you make a headache on the lawn."
"You just proved legitimacy to my claim."
"Oh, fuck you." You didn't respond to me but I saw the smile on your lips even though it wasn't there. After a long silence you said,
"I can't believe you. You ache so much." It was my turn to remain unspoken for a long time. By the time I found the words to say, the bridges suddenly collapsed in front of us. I watched you watch them crumble and wondered how you felt at seeing everything you'd worked for falling away. You looked at me and said, "I'm sorry about your bridges," you pulled your knees to your chest and sighed, "I wish I was as strong as you."
A migraine immediately crippled my vision and everything became distorted. The sky and the long grass were amber. You were cast in a blue shadow. My bridges left rugged depressions in the banks and crudely stuck out of the roiling water. I couldn't respond if I tried. You crawled inside yourself. I fell onto my back and sought the strength you spoke of.
