A close call, a revisitation from the angry past. Reminders that I have a pattern of seeking out people in pain, people in trouble. I’m drawn to the ones who want fixing.

The first, the close call, was a text, a toe dipped into the waters of dating. But really it was just a toe extended toward the water, not making contacting, just testing the air temperature. And the air was cold so I withdrew my toe before touching the water.

The second, the angry past, thrust its fist through my cell phone. After the text punches three months ago, I’d unblocked the number, thinking enough time had passed. But the past never really passes does it?  I kept my fingers to myself and typed “please stop.”

A toe, a finger. One peeks, the other points. Digits projecting beyond the safe sphere of self. Pressing into the sphere of another, pushing into the soft tissue membrane of human skin, human emotion. Texting, testing, tentative; texting, blaming, accusatory.