i took the train across the river and as the steam rose off the one small unfrozen strait it felt like an ocean. On one side, my was, was the only place that would have me. The only place that listened to our side of the story-our side of the story is my side. On the other side is only conjecture and assumption and notions of non-existent power dynamics.

as the train crosses the river and i see all of those beautiful heading to the place that the law forbids me from entering i speculate about what could have been. i wonder if i made the right choices. i think back on that day and speculate on a future where i said no to those big eyes with so much brilliance and mischief behind them ; if i’d said no to a hand reached across a desk; if i’d never been so taken aback by her lust and unconventional theory; if i’d just been able to think at all.

some mornings when her limbs twitch in dreams of consequence free violence i wonder if i gave up too quickly. but later, when her hand touches mine and she is outrageous about japanese earth quakes and libyan revolution i smile and am ok on my side of the river tangled up in the only future i can have.