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even though

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Whenever we come across a stranger at the bar, they always

exclaim with astonishment that I fell in love with you

“even though you have Asperger’s.”

There is no “even though.” Yesterday I reserved tickets

for your father’s funeral because we always knew

it would be a crowded event. I am still waiting for the call to come.

Some people are so beautiful in everything that they do,

but to me, hands are even more beautiful. They speak for everything

we cannot say. In high school I took a year-long course on Latin,

and every student in the class learned how to translate

their feelings with their hands.

The Latin word for sad was created with two hands around the neck,

lonely with the hands by the sides, afraid with open palms.

I still attend every single one of your AA meetings, because

it is like therapy for you, but on the mornings when the moon

bleeds white into the carpet and drenches my body with light,

all I want to do is roll over in bed

and immerse myself in you. You are addicted to something

that is not helping you, and I am always speechless, too,

when you are at a loss for words.

Listen: you are my “even though.” You are every reason

for waking, the way the moon brushes the tree branches

no matter how far they bend to get away from it.

Once, when we first met, I started crying over some silly thing,

losing a few bobby pins maybe, and you stood there,

hands by your sides, and said “I know you’re upset

but I don’t know what to do.”


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