I tried to be predictable,
to have smooth edges
and even color.
I tried to be two dimensional,
to fit between his pages
so he could fill me in.
But it's not the natural order of things.
I was supernatural in his world.
I took up space
and blurred everything.
I couldn't lay flat.
I was the kind of chaos
that the whole universe was trending towards,
the inevitable disorganization of all things.
I was something he couldn't control.
I think he liked it a little.
There was a small thrill to disorder,
to a little color outside of the lines.
Like a siren's call
chaos beckons.
But by the light of day
he could recognize how I unravelled him.
How I frayed his edges
and I was out of place.
I could never fit inside his lines.
