we're very close to catching each other's reflection from a side of a shiny mug and watching each other in this odd second-degree way, because neither of us would have mustered enough to tear away and look at the other straight in the eye. both quite afraid of the floor being pulled from beneath us and the crash when bone hits ground. so afraid to feel that second when our hearts are lodged between the folds of our throat and the air going in is the same as the one going out. so desperately holding on to theunproved belief that we are not made to be stitched together, even though when your cradle your head in my neck, it is perfect.
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