Tread

She writes from across the ocean, and I do not listen. She yells from across the time zones and I try to look away, but the tears catch me off guard and I sit crying in a quiet Brooklyn coffeeshop, while people rush to work outside the window. The Mountain West calls to me, reminds me of quiet air and space for lungs to breathe, my to do lists falter in the margins, I wonder how early is too early to be drinking. Perhaps the truth is I was always stumbling, it's just sometimes I could make it look like I was running, sometimes I could make it look like I was dancing but I was only ever two steps away from falling down, do you hear what I'm saying? I'm saying leave this sinking ship, I'm saying save yourselves while you still can because everything is drowning and I'm trying to shut the hatch to minimize the damage, concentrate it to just this body, hear what I'm saying.

I'm saying you got out just in time. Keep swimming. I'm saying I don't think I can do it anymore.