We were talking about the cruel man again.
When I think about him, I feel stupid and lost. I feel once again how it is for the hull to rupture, to fall into the fissure and keep falling for a long time. But slowly.
I think about the morning we woke up together, and he rose naked from the bed. He had only been passionate with me then. He had been kind. He got up and opened the blinds and then his body was where the light was absented. Outside his window, Inwood was all vibrant radiance. I could hear the sound of the city rising up, cars in the street, traffic on the bridge, kids down below playing basketball on the courts. He was naked, facing the city, no shame.
Months later, in the same bedroom, the blinds open, he gave me shame.
So we were talking about him again. I was trying to kill my shame, but that's not what I said.
I said he was cruel to the boy you loved.
I shouldn't have said how, but I did. I didn't realize I'd make you hurt. Sometimes I forget. That the body is a sea, it ripples when disturbed. That the wreck does not lie peacefully when it is entered.
If I call you down here to rescue me, you will drown.
I want you safe. Standing on the wrecked prow, I will not call your name.