Page 114 of Power Play

“It’s worse because he’s still there. She knows exactly where he is. She can imagine him standing behind while she keeps getting farther away.” I swallowed and looked at the earlier poem. “It’s a different kind of grief than ‘Annabel Lee.’ Poe refuses to accept separation even after death. Lowell has to live inside separation while both people are still alive.”

Ryan’s expression shifted. “Now you’re reading.”

“I was reading before.”

“You were translating words. Now you’re letting them hurt you.”

“That is a terrible advertisement for literature.”

“It’s an honest one.”

I looked at him. “Which kind is worse?”

His gaze moved briefly toward the poem. “The kind that ends while both people are still alive.”

The answer came without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Death doesn’t give you a choice.” Ryan looked at me again. “Walking away does. Knowing somebody’s still out there living without you can fuck with a person differently.”

I thought about his mother, the foster homes, and every person Ryan had lost without choosing to. My own selfish fear pushed underneath all of it, carrying Flint, distance, games, travel, women, and change back into the room.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “You left the poem.”

“What?”

“You’re somewhere else.”

“I’m right here.”

“Physically.”

I closed the book. “You’re leaving soon.”

His expression softened. “We already talked about that.”

“I know.”

“Still bothering you?”

“Yes.”

The truth surprised both of us.

Ryan leaned back. “How much?”

I looked around my apartment at his cap, his books, the half-open Spanish notebook, and the crackers he had apparently decided belonged beside my literature notes.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s allowed.”

“I hate not knowing.”

“I know you do.”

“I hate when things change after I finally figure out how they work.”