the way you are sometimes
Nokyoung Xayasane

There is something
about you
that I just can’t place.

Once, I asked you
if you had gotten a new hair cut.
You said, No,
you had gotten a new comb.
This made me laugh.
The way you are,
sometimes.
And then
we took off all
our clothes,
and fell asleep
with the fan on low.

You are very tall,
and masculine and strong.
You are very forward,
and crass and brash,
and very intelligent,
in my opinion.
But also,
you are that moment,
you know,
that moment
in a song
when everything
goes quiet,
and I wait
for the sound
of your voice
or for your heart,
breathing.

When you first
told me you were leaving
the country
in a few months,
I thought,
Okay, fine.
This will be a fun time
before you leave.

Then the last day came,
we laid in bed,
neither one of us speaking.
It is like this with us.
Sometimes, we hardly speak.
Finally, you got up,
put your clothes on,
went to the bathroom,
and I stayed
lying in bed.

All of a sudden,
I couldn’t move.
All of a sudden,
I couldn’t breathe.
I’m sad, I told you.
You smiled,
and then you left.
I laid back down on the bed,
then I went to my balcony
to breathe the air.

You are the sleepy mountain town
where I used to lie my head
when the world moved too quickly.

You are
the flashes of lightning
before a storm enters,
and I stand in the street
waiting
for the rain.

There are things
here
on this page
that I can’t say to you
or to myself.
This is how it happens
to me.
It always happens
to me
like this,
as if
by accident.