Again

I’m feeling — fleeing.
Off the phone call,
confused and searching
myself.

It hurts that he doesn’t get it.
At the same time
I’m glad he doesn’t.

“I want you to give him
one more chance
and try again.”

That “again” broke the dam —
a reservoir of tears
freed.

Every time I wonder,
is this the one that will break me?
What wasn’t clear,
diaphanous now.

Each “again” has broken me,
piece by piece.
I’m fragmented—
chipped away.

Seventy times seven though,
right?
Give more.

Even now, my soul is tearing — 
wrenching.

I catch a glimpse in the mirror.
I don’t recognize — can’t even see 
myself.
Blurry.

Is this just pride?
In my head, I hear that saying
about the knife and dying
to yourself.

Give more.
Again?

I feel
in pain.
Ripping out my lungs.
I don’t know how else to explain.

Ask his forgiveness
after everything?

The late-night hours
of agreeing
while disagreeing,
but not being allowed to.

I need to get away.
I’m still recovering.

He’s not careful enough with me.
I know it hurts him too,
But he keeps dropping me.
He’s trying so hard, I see it.

I want him to hold me
without dropping, so badly.
I want to give him a chance
again.

***

Like when he tossed me up high
and caught me.

When there was laughter in the air
and under my skin.
Way back then.
When I would say,

"Again!”