Crossing

I wonder if he was part of that conversation. You cross the line sometimes, she told me. Would she have told him, too? Maybe it was too late, maybe they were already on the way out. Maybe she said it as a last chance for closeness. It's a small problem, she'd say, it's nothing, really. And he'd reply by saying, I never liked that guy. I know. I know.

So we shook hands and exchanged pleasantries and maybe there was something in my smile. I'd wished him death a hundred times before. But now that it was over I realized nobody needed to die. It's not about living or dying or even growing or waking up. Truth be told, I have no idea what it's about. And now neither does he.

I do see the line. I do know when I cross. I am not stupid and I would never pretend to be. I am greater than the sum of my parts and soon you will know it, too. And you will say to yourself, where has this man been.