HIM

Point of No Return

Things change when he thinks to ask how many people I’m in love with.

He interrupts himself now, whenever I’m quiet for too long.

“Wait,” he says. “Are you talking to anyone else?”

“No,” I say. “It’s just me and you.”

I want him to feel special.

But I feel bad, lying.

The music swells.

White names plunge into black water.

We all know it’s over, but nobody leaves the theater right away.

The Point of No Return arrives on wings.

Claws out. Banners streaming.

From a distance, a hawk looks like a kite.

“False alarm,” I say, the first time I leave him and come back.

He doesn’t know. He thinks I’m talking about the smoke detector.

Screens, lenses, and speakers. Waves of light and sound.

Electrons increasingly suggest matter through vibration.

5 years from now, we digitize scent.

Is that how we’ll return to the ones we love?

The Interaction Designer asks me, “What does a phoenix see when it looks in the mirror?”

Possible replies flash in sequence: Ash / Feathers / Fire / Blinding light

By now I know better than to answer, or even look back.