sisyphus.

The missive arrives at 1:03 in the afternoon.

Wednesday.

It begins by misnaming, but eagerly, I read ahead.

It is not a promise, but it is promising.

Don’t tell him, not yet, I beg myself.

I tell him.

His face cracks into a smile, the first for months.

My heart leaps in my chest, a dull ache.

I ignore it.

It’s not a big deal, I warn myself.

Don’t get worked up.

But by 1:04

Wednesday

I was past this moment and into the after.

I smiled at myself in the mirror, a gracious smile.

This would be the one I would give in interviews.

My smirk would be reserved for the carpet.

The full smile, the one that made my eyes

Glint like dying embers in fading sun

That would be reserved for candid shots.

I did not save a smile for me

I would not be alone again

And I would not need it.

 

In my greeting I correct my name, graciously.

 

At 2:04 I send it.

Wednesday.

I check my inbox and spam

And I refresh a million times.

At 2:15 I tell him about my plans

And his smile falters. He remembers

The last.

Don’t get your hopes too high, he warns gently.

But he feels so far beyond me now,

His words cannot reach.

 

The rejection comes swiftly, and like

A guillotine, I almost miss the pain of it.

I read it twice without seeing the words

And then it is remanded to the box labeled

Styx.

They all go there, but the words that preceded them

Are flawed somewhere, and their killing blow

Reaches into the underworld and plucks

Again and again

At my ragged smile reserved

For when I am alone

Which (when he is not here,

And the words are there, waiting to be sent

To the box labeled

Styx)

Is always.

The missive arrives at 4:48.

Friday.

I am (again) misnamed

But the last seems so far away

And this is different, I can feel it.

I go to the mirror and practice the smile again

And I do not see the mirror’s hesitation

Its slow recovery.

The fading, cautious smile, with the pain

Behind the eyes.

That is the one I’ll use in this moment

And all moments hereafter.

Nothing, of course,

For the moments alone.

I will not be alone again

And I will not need it.