In the rain and the dark, I was nipped by a sudden car. Hit would be far too strong a word. Bumped into isn’t the right image, either. Condemned is how it felt in the blurry, headlight lit moment. Rejected, tossed aside, discarded to a gutter filled with brackish water.
Later, magic happens and you are in the room with me. I’m shaking and sweating, trying to drink tea. Oh, but for the first time, everything is funny. And it doesn’t matter what we say or do or can’t say or mistake. I like everything about you.
You are an unseen hawk tucked in trees of a land I have never known.
And you, without trying, have captured me.
But your eyes like ebony opals turn other places, and I am afraid I am only outsider, outlier, stranger. Words — my token skill — elude me, slip through my lips and fingers. Breath escapes into a vapor and drifts right past you. I become a hollow shape in a full room.
The world talks past, above, and beyond me. Too fast to comprehend.
Magician, will you fail me? Have I not tested this chemistry? Do these reactions not amount to the proportions I calculated alone in my rooms? Have I done the wrong math? Have I failed the test?
I have to master my tongue in a new way. In a way that is no longer universal, but specific. No longer artistic, but scientific. No longer fluid, but rigid. And as the ruler comes down on my knuckles, I will bleed out my ignorance.
I am all I need to be but fear is a wall stronger than anything. Without fear, I can master anything.
Tomorrow, we will be in the park. I don’t know what comes next, but I will learn.