heartbeats tender_square it was hard to tell if it was dark because it was overcast or if the day had given way to night. traffic crawled on packard as rain spit curses against the windshield, a blur of red lights and leaves. i pulled over on washington and put the hazards on, backing up against one of the last street patios of the season. he put on his face mask in the passenger seat then exited the car to get our takeout order. on the radio, our wedding song came on. it was the original version by the knife though, not the josé gonzales cover we played at our reception. there are two kinds of people in the world: those who find meaning in everything, and those who don’t believe that anything has meaning. if this song was a sign, i wanted more to recognize it. (if he doesn’t come back to the car before it’s over, that means something.) he came back to the car, empty handed, at the half-way point. we sat in silence as karin sang, “we had a promise made; we were in love.” I hadn't noticed before that she said it as though it were a past-tense sentiment. (if he doesn’t say anything about our wedding song being on, that means something.) “it’s our song, honey.” he nodded at me, still wearing his mask. (if he doesn’t take off his mask and kiss me, that means something.) he stared out the windshield. “i’m going to wait until 5:25 and then i’m going back to check on it.” (if he doesn’t take hold of my hand across the console, that means something.) i reached over and took his left hand with my right, let it rest against his leg. the song ended and the station cut to a new track we can’t stand, so i turned the dial to another station and heard the opening chords of “high and dry.” his hand slackened in mine. i took the hint, unclasped my fingers from his, returned my hand to my lap. i tilted my head to look across the street. a waitress wiped down a table inside an intimate restaurant. a man left a building smiling to himself. a brick façade on the along the building’s roof chipped and crumbled. he left the car again. my eyes got lost in the slate grey of three-story painted brick waiting. i had nearly missed it—the arch over a former window, an eyebrow over a closed eye. the window frame had been filled in with brick. the paint had blended it almost seamlessly. i was suddenly singing along with thom. “it’s the best thing that you’ve ever had, the best thing that you’ve ever, ever had.” the convex curve was the only clue left that light was once let in through that gateway. “the best thing you have had has gone away.” all that remained of it was frowning brick. 211112 ... unhinged deep embodiment instructions 'feel the beating of your own heart' except it eludes me now that i don't feel the thump thump fluttering in my throat anymore and when i do i know the breathwork that can put my hearbeats back in my chest where they belong 211112 what's it to you? who go blather from