He glances down at his palms as if they held the secrets to the entire world. And the shaking starts from head to toe as if God had placed two converging plates inside his soul
I reach out a hand to help, to hold
and
he crumbles from the inside out,
“Don’t…don’t touch me,” he pleads to no one in particular,
the desperation in his voice bouncing around my hollow head and
I have to ask
why

why

why
but there is no why - there is only silence and the trembling of my fingers, still frozen a hairsbreadth away from his cheek
As if sensing my hesitation he looks up, with stars in his eyes:
to my hand, to my face, and back again
eyes wildly darting as if he dared to blink the gesture would be lost to him as it was to me;
“Wha-what are you doing?” The confusion in his voice so plausible it almost hurts my ears
so I embrace him how his mother used to but doesn’t anymore,
because she is 1000 miles, three oceans and seven skies away
I kiss his sodden cheeks, brush away the tendrils of soft hair;
cafuné
with the lingering scent of gin and rust from the night before and a horrid memory of a temporary loss of sanity that brought forth the many unspoken screams inked up his arms
the words I knew could set him free catch in my chest cavity when I see his Adam’s apple working to fill his lungs emptied long ago
And if I had ever thought for a moment there was some hope left in the world,
that all disappeared when he cried into my hands.