Weather Patterns

There is an eddy in the middle of our living room, just by the molting couch our roommate sleeps on. It leaves the carpet undisturbed, but above I can see the flow and ebb of our dynamics. Lots of good feelings, tied up with memories. Those float at the top, bubbly and warm. They spin in the eddy as though it were a ride.  I can hear them from our room late at night. I can hear the bark of your small dogs, the laughing of our friends. I can hear your voice, ridiculously loud when you're happy. I can hear the colder parts, too, that lie underneath.  Panic and insecurities.  I can hear your voice breaking, and the soft sound tears gliding down your cheek. Sometimes we fight, and there is no noise except frantic typing.  We don't speak in our anger.

I get so overwhelmed that I can't delve down to the deepest part. The middle of the eddy, that perpetuates the whole thing. But it's there, and when I rest my head against you I can hear your heart beat.