Lost in Hel·sin·ki [hel-sing-kee, hel-sing-]

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“I can’t keep doing this.” I say this under my breath. Your eyes meet with mine. A grating impasse. And all I get from you is a smile. You must know that I’m serious in my words, but you’re more stern with your actions. I think I hate you for it.

I guess in my mind it must have been years now. You know everything it takes to keep me. It taunts me while I sleep alongside you, knowing that in the morning you’ll be gone. Your shirt hangs indolently off of the edge of the mahogany. “I don’t want leave, but I have to. You know that.” I wear my face thin and stolid. “I know,” I tread back on the selfsame line. But I know he does.

I can’t leave this city. I pace tired up and down these unlit streets in iteration.

The clock is boundless. I don’t know when we first crossed it. (The point of no return.) There’s no number in seconds for how long we’ve played this game. “It won’t ever be like this. You’ll never know anything else like how I know you…anyone else like how I know you.” And quick are the hands that turn from words in anger to acts of passion. He seizes every part of me, leaving me without an utterance, a rebuttal—an inspiratory gasp to refute. I don’t know that I would have. This time I want you to keep your hands on me. I fumble in this maze.

Tonight, your lips feel cold as I pull away from you. They mimic something like Lake Mālaren in winter. I’m struck with a sense of familiarity. Your fingers form an archipelago as these digits find their way across my skin. And your eyes are laden with resilience and habitué. “I can’t keep doing this.” I remind him. His eyes meet with mine. A grating impasse. “And whatever will you do without me?” His laugh slithers in between the sheets. I know he’ll say, “You don’t know your way.”

And all he gets from me is a smile.
It will taunt you while I sleep alongside you, knowing that in the morning I’ll be gone.

Because I was never in Helsinki to begin with.

And I think I just found my way out of Stockholm.

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