A Balancing Act

There's much to be said
for the friend who comes at 2:00 AM,
sits there,
mouth closed,
head still,
knows not to act like anything
other than a shrine
ready to wrap its arms around me
if only I reach out.

She listens with her whole body,
later brings up things I said
in touches that make me feel
I am a butterfly
short one wing,
being carried outside
to die in a flower box.

When I speak,
I wish she thought of me as a building
sucker-punched by a hurricane
with all its windows still intact,
I want her to see herself
in my glass parts,
so we can talk about
all the times we both were surprised
to see ourselves standing.

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