I kept shaking my head, thinking to myself, No way is this what I was after. No way.  I looked at you, at us, with disbelief.  There’s too much.  I pored through every dictionary I could find and all the definitions of love don’t say anything about hating you, wishing you were dead, wishing I was dead, breaking skin, punching the refrigerator door.  Now I have all these magnets to pick up, dozens of little white magnets with little words on them, and I stare them down, one at a time: astronaut, running, nighttime, sweetheart.  On and on. 

I’ve run you over in my mind, over and over.  Love, loved, loving.  I keep thinking in loud, distorted words, like we’ll get through this, or remember, or only you.  From the outset I’ve cultivated something mine, something me and now all I want to do is gather my things, fasten them up tight, secure, and bury it all.  Obscure the x-mark.  Keep trying.  This is what happens next, you’re what’s after.  I want to fashion a lock without a mate.  I’ve already got mine.