Remind Me

My eyes closed shut, heat from my stomach reminds me I'm awake.
I count down as if I don't want the sun to rise, pulling my limbs out and out.
With a quick shake, she tells me it's time.
These routines we have tells me the time.

Twenty percent chance means it will not happen.
Twenty percent chance means I take my chances.

I'll go where my legs permit, the smiles remind me I'm awake.
Hellos and goodbyes come and go, the small gestures I won't forget.
Setting these plans in my head, I'll wait for the rain to stop.
Setting these plans in my head, knowing I can't stop.

I'm out again, the beating from your chest reminds me I'm awake.
You say you'll be right there so I can wait, I wait, I wait.
We greet these old strangers, our eyes filled with their unfamiliar reflections.
I see you again, we talk about our past distractions.

I tell you that she isn't worth it.
I tell you that she was never perfect.

I stand where my legs will agree to, the vibrations remind me I'm awake.
Making sure I don't step in the wrong spots, thinking about if I've said the wrong words.
These sounds muffle our aching.
Your voice is crowded and your hands shaking.

We exchange our farewells, the sounds of the wheels remind me I'm awake.
I can't stop, I can't help it, but I don't even recognize it, I don't even understand it.
I'm shedding.
I'm shedding.

The glow of the screen is one of few, I position myself internally.
I feel her chest rising and falling and she reminds me that the day is over.
With a slow breath, she tells me it's time.
These routines we have tells me the time.