I watched the blue thin and fade over the buildings early this morning, imagining the sky would disappear. You were sleeping. Of course.

I lay there wide awake, dilated, hungry.

I used to think of you as a kind of song I couldn't translate. You were all the right words. Perfect. I could never explain it to anyone else, the frustration, the inadequacy of language to convey the proper meaning, the correct punctuation. Because it all mattered.

And looking at you now, beside me, I still can't do it. I'm not even close.

You still make me stumble and stutter when I think I've finally got you.

And I like it that way.