constant
He can never know it, but…
she is grateful for the little moments, so ordinary, so simple
so meaningless
he can never know it, but
she locks each and every one of those moments away
drowning in romanticized sentimentality
and he in turn keeps her locked in those moments
He can never know it, but…
she keeps her fingers on his rhythms
on the pulse of their undercurrents
he can never know it, but
she is taking him apart
pulse by pulse, heartbeat by heartbeat
and she has found a part of him that is stable
that she could even call hers
He can never know it, but…
she has made him her constant
And when you let someone become your constant… that’s when you have a problem.
