wrote my name on his neck.

so last night i wrote my name on his neck.

he stood in the kitchen hanging on the open refrigerator door, staring at me sitting on the counter beside the old bananas and the apples with soft spots, attempting to read my mind after i refused to answer his question: what do you want for dinner?

i couldn't think.
my mind had been cluttered all day with the thought of him leaving and the thought of my hard ass bed being permanently messy or permanently made because i refused to make it up or sleep under the covers...depending on how he left it.
i couldn't think.

i really didn't give a shit about what we ate.
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and skim milk would serve the purpose.

we hadn't yet gotten out tattoos.
not matching, just at the same time.

he closed the refrigerator and sighed.
he had read my mind.
and although he didn't want to say it, his leaving would be a blow to him.

i grabbed a permanent marker and started scribbling illegible letters on apples and sad faces on bananas, knowing he wouldn't take either of the, with him as a reminder, but we'd remember this years from now, joking, saying things like:

remember that time when...

and we'd laugh.

but nothing was funny.

he stood between my legs - his back to my belly button, and we stared at an empty wall we thought we'd occupy before fall with pictures of music.

i wrote my name on his neck.
i permanently marked him.

i wanted the people who stayed at a distance to know i was once there.
he did not belong to me, but i needed to claim something at the moment, and his neck was present.

before the sky split open he's need to shower and pack and i'd need to grab a few dreams and tuck them away in my chapstick pocket for later discussion.

he towel dried, but forgot a few beads of water in the well his neck and shoulder blades created - and me - in my dehydrated state - drank it.
i prayed for tears when i realized the tattoo i created had broken free and was probably following the water down the bathroom drain.

it was gone.

the thing with permanent markers is they're never permanent on skin.

he removed the towel and wrapped himself in sheets that would never be made again...

then he left a free man.