What We Do in the Dark

She called at midnight and I heard it in her voice,

that crack, that break, that place where the bottom falls out,

and I got in the car without thinking,

without checking my phone, without brushing my teeth,

just the knowledge that she needed me,

and I was finally useful,

and that terrified me.

When I got to her place she was bent over the toilet,

and I held her hair back without thinking about it,

my hand knowing exactly where to go,

my body understanding what to do

in a way my mind never could,

and her shoulders were contracting,

the muscles in her back working,

and her hair was damp at the ends between my fingers,

dark and thin and real,

and I was kneeling on the tile,

the cold shocking through my jeans,

and this was the most intimate thing

I'd ever done with another person,

holding her hair back so it wouldn't touch

the thing she was losing,

so she wouldn't have to think about that,

so she could just be sick,

just be human,

and I realized I'd been waiting for this,

waiting to be needed like this,

waiting to know exactly what to do,

and now that I did

I didn't know how to let go.