my stomach swears there's comfort there in the warmth of the blankets on your bed. my stomach's always been a liar, i'll believe its lies again...

old news from dying virgins:

it was called "death of the virgin"
or "virginity is dead" or some sort of title
that eludes to the danger of love. and she was blabbing,
reciting one of her prize novels
like it would someday become a classic.

i sat there beside a boy i barely knew.
he had weird habits, but he was cute enough
to make me think of the loudness of my breathing.
and when she told about the heat
of her lover's thighs against her own...
well, it should be no surprise that he
wasn't on my mind. i was thinking
how it would never do any good to write
a story for you because it's all been said before.

it wouldn't matter that i think of you as the moon,
reappearing faintly in the day
and making me feel anything but cold night
is not worth my time. and when she read
about some antique wedding dress,
i thought to myself how you are my favorite
hand-me down; how someday i might outgrow you
or decide you're too worn to be of any use
or realize you aren't my style
and reluctantly hand you to someone else
who would know no more of your past
than i had. i fidgeted through her ending
about how love never lasts or some nonsense.
and when i sighed (a little too audibly)
after the clapping had ceased,
that boy beside me cleared his throat
and asked if he could walk me home.

i wanted to tell him no. that there was this boy
who smelled like leaves in spring
and made me feel like all the answers had been found
and refused to close his windows in winter.
that there was a boy who i loved,
but i didn't because i was sure he'd heard it all before
and i loved old news too much to prove him wrong.

just sitting by your bed...and talking to your head...and hearing what you said...as if you'd never left...

there we were.
no apologies.
no questions about the people in our past.
no excuses for our lack of progress.
we knew why the trucks didn't start
and which stars were our favorites.
nothing had changed.

i was surprised how easily it all came back,
how little we cared about reasons.
like when we complained of the cold,
but kept the windows open.

i think we were both too tired,
too worn down by the places we loved
to be anything but broken apart.

it's like our solitude was binary all along.
i just needed to know you were real
you just needed a friend.
and there we were.