The Red-Eye

I realised I was in love with you

two days into a fast

in the middle of nowhere

watching the sunset, and

sitting on the floor, and

listening to Norah Jones, and

seriously considering stealing some

car keys

to drive to McDonalds.

Instead I had a reiki session, and

dreamt about you

being born from the middle of a daisy, and 

I felt Venus start to bloom again.

It was easy to fall in love with you:

With your jaw bone.

With the freckles under your eyes.

With the shape of your thumbnails.

It was harder to fall in love with myself, and

all the ways I deserved more from you.

Instead ‘Gypsy’ came out, and

I knew it as prophetic, but

it hurt too much to listen to all the signs.

Instead I took flight, and

planned to write a book about you, and

all the ways I had turned into ash.

Instead I hitchhiked to Portugal, and

forgot to see the sights of Lisbon, and

burned all my incense to try to work out if 

broken embers are worth the glow.

Instead I stood on the edge of the Maria Pia, and

knew I was the glittering of sun on sea, but

the distance to get there 

was even deeper than the fall. 

Instead I went back to my apartment, and

couldn’t understand how this ocean of hurt

wasn’t reaching you, and

I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to catch the red eye, when

all I wanted was for you to catch 

me.