"A Report From the Other Side of Sliding"

She reminds me of someone
I used to
hate.

We made up in two afternoon hours
after hours of making up reasons
why we should make up.

We never sped toward anything.
Instead, we stumbled.
Clumsily crumbling into each other,
we mumbled the punch lines to jokes
we didn't get
and didn't write
and didn't get right.
We couldn't walk
because it would have given us too much time
to try to talk without lies
and realize
we couldn't
stop.

Two more scoops of sugar,
two more swirls with the
strong silver interrupter
and two dumb kids
too numb to know
the difference
between
being together
and
being better.

We day-dreampt untucked
minutes beyond sleeping
and an hour away from
daring each other to die.

I tried it once.
Wiped the dirty water
from the dams in the corner --
the ones that wouldn't let me cry
when I saw my dad
for the last time.
I can't remember much,
but the pieces that are left
are stuck swirling,
never sinking.

And here she is.
Slivers of bright blue
shimmering before burning
into the pavement
and waiting
for me
to rescue her
from whatever it is that girls like her believe
they need to be rescued from.

My eyes slide up
to that clock
in the middle of the city
near the coffee shop
where other people meet
to make up
for lost time.

I stare straight ahead
and feel my feet move.