el enferma del corazón

My heart has betrayed me. I looked away, distracted by the delirious effect of sheer happiness and when I looked again it was gone. The dust was still settling from its escape when I was able to see the place to where its footprints led. Home.
The worst part about betrayal is that it is so often unintentional. Across the shore, I could see my heart waving slowly, sad and slow, apologetically promising that this would hurt. 
Sitting on that bus on the ride home this evening, it did not take long before my eyes quietly became traitors amid the stale air and the shade of evening. Shut against the world, those eyes of mine stung, open they leaked the secrets of my sadness. Long is the journey from lashes to chin for the first tear. 

Homesick. 

It has stolen my words and the familiar flowers from my hair. 
I lie in these sheets fresh with the clean smell of Mama Tica, and I focus on breathing and the small weight of Harold in my arms.
For tonight, I am raw, burned brown by the sun, slumped with late nights, stripped by distance - sandpaper on the skin. 

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