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And she sings it to me

Which makes no sense whatsoever But still, she watches uilt in her gaze

She still blames herself I always knew she did, and hoped ti even spoken to her, that she still carries the weight There’s darkness in this girl, now I alet involved She’ll hurt ot so s in her soul, and I’et cut by her if I’oing to try I’ve had toothey can fix rab onto her and let , e I don’t join in, I just give her the moment, let her own it The crohistles and claps and tosses dollars into her open guitar case

Now she waits, watches My turn I know I have to choose ue, here We’re having a conversation intitles I stru Then it comes to me:

“Can’t Break Her Fall” by Matt Kearney It speaks topeople will re when I sing it The half-sung, half-rapped The verses tell such a strong, vivid story, and suddenly I can see her and I in the lyrics

She listens carefully Her gray-green gaze hardens, and her teeth snag her lip and bite down hard Oh yeah She heard uitar in the case, zips it closed and tries not to stumble as she runs fro between her shoulder blades, and her calves flash pale white in the New York sunlight I let her go, finish the song, twoafter her Across the street, Yellow Cabs honking impatiently, city noise, and then down to a subway She swipes a card and struggles with the turnstile, guitar held aardly by the handle She swipes the card again, but the turnstile won’t budge and she’s cursing under her breath People are lining up behind us, but she’s oblivious to theling, takes a deep breath At that ently push her through the gate She couitar fro my own hard-case by the handle The palm ofsubway car She doesn’t look me, doesn’t question that it’sherself I let her breathe, let the silence stretch She won’t turn in place to look atainst me, merely allows a hint of contact

She steps off after a few stops, and I follow She catches another line, and we continue in silence She hasn’t met my eyes since she ran from the Central Park bench I’ve stayed behind her, just following I follow her to an apart stairwell, trying not to stare at her ass swaying as she ascends the stairs It’s hard not to, though It’s such a fine ass, round and taut and swinging teasingly under the thin cotton of her sundress

She unlocks door nuoes straight to the kitchen, not watching to see if I follow her in uninvited, which I do I close the door behind ht switch, just inside the doorway, next to a suitar books and packets of nylon strings My case goes on the floor next me in the entryway to the open kitchen I watch her jerk open a cabinet next to the refrigerator, pull out a bottle of Jack, twist the cap off and toss it to the counter Her fist shakes and she tilts the bottle up to her lips and sucks three tiht from the bottle Damn She sets the bottle down violently and stands with her head hanging between her arms braced on the counter, one foot stretched out behind her, the other bent close to the counter in a runner’s stretch She shudders in a breath, straightens, wipes her lips with the back of her hand I cross the space between us, and I don’tas rabs the bottle, brings it topulls It burns, a fa to the counter edge, staring up atShe looks like an anime character, suddenly, so wide-eyed and full of depthless emotion I want to kiss her so badly, but I don’t I don’t even touch her, even though I’m mere inches froainst the counter beside her elbow

“Why are you here?” she asks Her voice is a harsh whisper, whiskey-burned

I let a lopsided smile tilt my lips “Here in your apartment? Or here in New York?”

“In my apartment In New York In my life Here Why are you here?”

“I live in New York I have since I was seventeen I’m here in your apartment because I followed you from Central Park”