The Fly Life

Perhaps the reason when words go unwritten for a period of time is that I would rather have memories lost than recorded like the Aztecs and Incas that are still legible today. I want them to be lost in Atlantis, to be constantly pondered but never found and I'd rather them be made up then surfaced to eat at me once again. I want the touch of your hand and the sound of your voice to fall so deep into the pit of my stomach it is broken down by the acidity of my body. I got this heartburn every time I hear your voice after I have almost forgotten what you sound like, a message on my phone whose retention time is about to expire. I would have waited for you should I have known that your heart was somewhere in this universe and not behind the bars of a black hole.

Sometimes the only reason we keep coming back to only to ask "why". Because even a bad explanation is better than not having one at all. I am caught between deleting your number from my phone so I don't see your name and keeping it there so I know when to bounce back and forth between answering and pressing "ignore".

When my fault lines are about to bring fourth the lava that runs in my heart, just to hear your voice is relief. So now I'm caught in a catch 22 with the two of you between hearing your voice and seeing your face and having you pushed to the back of my mind which would be a blessing in disguise. But I will not let it get the best of me. I'll let it roll.