The Fault Line

Blank Page

A blank page daunts—
taunts me,
haunts me.

How many times
must we begin again,
authentic imposters?

Can’t I just
be pretty,
draw hearts
around my name,

and never
write
a single thing?

I Was Wrong
or Was I?
For wanting to know
More than you gave.

The words that spill
from your lips—
I take them as truth,
but truth is thin
when all I have is words.

And the feeling—
it wraps itself around me,
tightens my chest,
sometimes steals my breath.

I have leapt
from a cliff
not knowing if there's a parachute
or what waits below.

Do I know your life?
Have I seen
the place you call home?
Have I walked your streets?

Maybe, once.
I don’t know your friends—
their faces blur in crowds.
Is this just circumstance?

The miles between us stretch
like a quiet accusation,
unraveling our intimacy,
our familiarity.

Take me at my word, you say.
But all I have are words.

A friend asked about me, you said.
I floated. I smiled.
Just a remnant
of a half-mad conversation—
the woman behind the screen,
filling in your blanks.

I eat your words,
hoping someday
they’ll be enough.
Or maybe—
more.

I feel love in your words—
in kindness tucked inside compliments,
in noticing trivial things
as if you see me,
truly get me.

I feel it in your actions:
a 90-minute drive,
lost hours of sleep,
moments stolen from work—
small sacrifices that feel like vows.

I try to live only in these moments,
because for now, they are the only truth I know.

Still, the questions linger,
swirling through my mind.
I push them away,
but they return,
crawling back like shadows.

What does she mean to you?
Your home? Your past?
A partner in name only, or in heart?
I don’t want to ask—
as if the asking alone
could shatter all we’ve built.

So I give you blind trust,
and float somewhere in the air,
wrapped in the thought of you.
My feet don’t touch the ground,
my eyes can’t find it.

But I believe it’s there,
because you look into mine
and whisper that it is.

And if I fall?
And if I fly?

Dear NB,

I’m sorry for being prickly.
I feel as though I’m trying
to hold all my insides in,
but they’re slipping out
anyway.

I was smiling when you told me about your friend,
but the smile fell
when I realized it was because
I was crazy —
or you were —
for being with me anyway.
That’s not what you were trying to say.

Perhaps you don’t know
how small I can make myself feel —
which is silly,
but human.
And like many humans,
my flaws are impossible
to hide forever.

At times, I feel as though
I do not really know
this man who lies next to me,
breathing in my bed,
setting my mind at ease.

When you’re not with me,
all I have are words.
I do not know your life —
it will come
in time.

I grew wary,
impatient — scared, even.
Perhaps you think
I’ve tried to “catch you.”

But I only wanted
to know you.
I know those worries must go.
I’ve let them.

I have asked for no explanation,
only to believe
what you say.

And finally,
I have breathed.
Rested.