on the streets

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We sit with bone crushed hands beneath the table making sure there are still knuckles to hold everything together. I’ve been shocked lately by how quick currents can carry us away from one another. How other you look when I see you on the street. How I hardly even recognize the one thing I ever truly wanted. I’d spent months memorizing the edges of you, and now it is blurred and something so foreign it is hard to believe I was ever even there to begin with. I talk a lot on languages of people, how we develop a dialect between bed sheets and long car rides. How we learn to lean in and out of the others shaking voice. If this is true, then where do all those gestures go? And what language must we rely on now? Because for this, words fail everyone involved.