Throbbing Halves

I am two people, probably more but there are only two relevant ones today. Tomorrow will probably be different and what defines me will change, but this is now's reality manifest in a collection of letters.

I am the past. I feel the weight of Brittany on my shoulders, her reaching to lean on me when my mind is crying out to leave her in the shadows. My heart is vacant and empty when she sings to it, but to also push the closest friend I've had in years seems wrong. I struggle on a tightrope, fumbling with a balance between kindness and firmness. Somewhere inside myself I cry at three a.m., memories flooding my stomach of unspeakable rejection. Silence grows on my face as the world twists within.

I am the present. I feel the weight of Neiloo as she lays naked against my chest at four a.m. She touches the exposed and sees my eyes. I pull and she does too; I kill the butterflies and she does too; I tell her not to and she challenges me too. Tipping in the night we define time by our body's skin. I am swallowed in her hands and lips, eyes catching on her hips. Desire is past fingers running together. I ache for more but the words to ask are captive.

I am two people. I am push and I am pull, past and present shoved against one another. I will ebb and flow, dynamic contentment.