jupiter in fifth
“i dont think im a runaway,” he said. i already knew that. the very house we sat in had whispered it to me from the moment i turned down the street. the reader of your stars told me so. these eight eyes have already seen.
“do you think we'll ever figure out what we've been looking for?” he said.
“i dont know. i think i've been looking for it for a million-billion years and then died, and then died, and then died.”
“but there, it's different— they all know they're you, and they're okay with that, and it's so strange to be around them,” he said.
“why are you afraid of yourself, then?” i did not ask him this. he came forward with it himself earlier, and i did not tell him what house his jupiter rests in— it wouldn't save him.
"your turn. i wanna listen too,” he said.
i began reciting the archive of the heart i inherited, from the beginning like a mantra, in the order i had come to know it in all faded pages and ghostly sensations.
"i guess i dont have to tell you my whole life story,” i said. i did not bear my heart to him, and glanced only at the clock counting down for ten minutes. he listened.
"well, i hope i can do more for you than your therapist, maybe,” he said. the spark in my heart surprised me; how dare you think so, unworldly man, i bite from behind my ribcage. this dog has been kicked by your crueler kin.
i did not look at him then, nor when i arrived at my doorstep and walked back into my home. there's nothing more to say tonight.