WHAT I MEANT WHEN I SAID "I MEANT IT"


Because I’ve had two fingers pressed into the soft spot at the base of my neck between my collar bones for twenty minutes. Because I’m worried that my arrhythmia is really in my head. Because as soon as I remove my hand from my chest, my heart skips forward and doubles back. Because maybe it’s just trying to remind me that I don’t have a heart, I am heart. 

Because when my heart pauses, it makes me swallow, hard, like my body thinks that’s how I breath, by swallowing in my stomach and not inhaling in my lungs. This is what I mean when I say it’s hard to find the air. I’ve been putting it in the wrong place all these years. 

Because something about using how I threw up after the first time I listened to Pianos Become The Teeth’s “The Lack Long After” as a metaphor against making new friends. 
 
Because we have all entered rooms and wept.
 
Because I’m translating things from English to English. Because I only see half of what I’m writing. Because I call until people until they answer and that says more than anything I could. 
 
Because it’s as if I purposefully put myself out there in all the wrong ways in hopes people will be reproachable in their dealings with me. Because on a scale of not getting it to getting it, you get it. Because you read me like book, a reluctant book, a book with a slow beginning. 
 
Because what would I do without you. 

Because something about putting my two fingers pressed up into the soft triangle at the base of my neck, where my collar bones constantly miss one another, for what seemed like but was certainly not the better part of a year. Because there’s certainly no way that I created something in my head that I felt in my chest. Because maybe I just described the last ten years of my life. 

Because in translating this from English to English and back again, something is going to get lost. Because sometimes the curtains only look blue to the author when you or you or I or you would call them Pacific, which is exactly what standing on the shore with the water on the wrong side is like. 

Because I have this idea that if I put the air where it goes and stop vomiting in public private places, I’ll be less attuned to how much my building shakes on a daily basis. Because, well, what if it’s not the building. 

What then.