I am not faultless.

If I knew how to recite an “Our Father,” I could pave a road with those words to unfurl for a marathon runner.

Sometimes we use bodies and pretend they’re marionettes. Automatons.

You whisper into someone’s ear so they will place their hand on your chest, or that when they cradle you into the ebb of sleep they will purposely attempt to match their breathing to your own tempo.

They will beseech their hearts to match the syncopation of your internal metronome, and you will pretend not to notice any mistranslations.

You will discard these people like loose pennies.

And then you will weep when someone does it to you.