Tell me...

You called.
I miss seeing you, you say.
I hear something else in your voice: Be brave!
And I want to be that brave.

I talk and talk and talk
ending up at the same place
the same hurt keeps my pace.
I thought I could talk about other things, I say.

You will, in time, you say
 and  a hand on my shoulder stretches
across the back
all the way around
and into my heart strings.
Yet, the sixty miles of vascular highway
sinewy nerve endings, and muscles in my legs
cease to support me.

My wound covered her carpet.