It's strange how much your heart
can swell bigger than your body,
can just up and fly
across the whole page, the table, a room,
the entire system of stars spattered across the dome of sky
with all the love that grows sudden and startling
in that place in your chest you forget about
until it blows up fierce and wide,
I still can't like you,
not even a little bit.
I imagine you sitting across from me,
and you seem like a husk to me,
an empty piece of obligation to me,
a nothing needing attention from me,
and I'm unsteadied by my continued capacity for cruelty.
My empathy needs some work.