and she follows me around, even when she's not here, even when she's a twenty thousand miles away, she follows me, trails me through the streets, down the hills hollowed with fog, pass the turn the curves with the sun setting purple in the sky.

in my dreams she is there.

in my dream she sits with my parents to plan my funeral. i watch over her, next to her, sitting down on my haunches, feeling my ankles press into my thighs, and punch her to whisper that i want to be cremated.

awake, alone, on the phone, i tell her this and she remembers. i tell her this so when i die she will be there to make my wish go through and i won't have to punch her.

she is there in bed with me, next to me, stretched out, sleeping, arms hugging pillow, on her back, on her stomach, one hand on my leg, she is there.

awake, alone, on the phone, she tells me that if she were to answer selfishly she wants to die first. she does not want to see me there. she does not want to be there. a dream i had, months ago, and emailed her about, she says, made her cry. i had died. in detail. arm hanging out a crushed car window.

we eat lunch together. she has followed me to the kitchen table, to a restuarant, into my car, where we sit quietly with our forks and drinks.

i catch my breath. i get goosebumps. i shiver. i undulate like a wave. she has followed me, traced me, claimed me again and again with possesiveness in her voice, saying mine and mine and mine, heatedly, and i grit my teeth trying to give it all to her.

her voice, it is here, drowning me in a warmth, moving into me, her moans and whimpers, saying my name, her vowels and consonants move me down the hall, through door ways, past customers.

awake, alone, on the phone, i say i miss you.