Yesterday, a man told me, I love you again, as if this was good news, as if this was a blessing he was bestowing upon me. Later, in a doctor’s office, a nurse turned her back on me, and I stole a vile of my own blood. She turned around as I was pocketing the goods and warned me, That will not protect you. It hurts me every time the man leaves me, in a way I cannot find a name for. I want to jump in front of a moving car. I stand outside in a storm at night. When the eye comes through, I ask God to let me pass quickly. I break the vile of blood over my head and let the drip drip mix with the rain drops. The man ran his fingers through my hair when he told me he loved me, and I wanted to keep them there disconnected from his body. I don’t care how grotesque that reads. The eye of the storm is blue, becomes morning, becomes a lighter shade of blue and nothing matters. Not even the man who claims he loves me but leaves me. Everywhere/Anywhere I am is lonely.

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