Requiem

You’re parting my sternum with your words, honey-sweet.

Cracking it right in two, rotting straight through the bone. Prying me open, making me bleed.

Inside I’m a cavern, all rock and salt, pointing spindly fingers in every direction. There is no soft carpet of moss, or blanket of leaves. This place is hard, untouched, buried deep.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

I want to stay cold, but you’re sliding your sun-warmed fingers between my ribs. I forgot to tell you to stop.

You say you love the crystals, I’ve never seen them. I hope you do. I hope you see them. I hope they’re there.

mother

“I like your hands,” he claimed.

I looked over, surprised. His eyes were on my hands, too. “Really? Why?” His tone was so sure and genuine. I couldn’t understand how such a thing could be said with such confidence.

It was his turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Because they’re yours.”

And there he went again, saying something so very heavy without even realizing the true weight.

I don’t think I ever believed it was possible to have a part of me loved simply because it’s mine. Simply because it’s a part of me.

How else can I thank you? I’m afraid you’ll think I’m crazy if I try. But this ache burns right down to my diaphragm. It consumes my chest, my lungs, up my throat. I think I’ll choke on it. I’m choking on it now.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Do you even know how much? I never thought I’d be so pathetic. Not in my lifetime. I never thought I’d crave the feel of your hands, work-rough and warm on my face. I always hated when people touched my face. I never thought I’d seek out your smell on my shirt after you leave.

I’m terrified of you.

Terrified.

Look what you’ve done to me already! My teeth ache with it. It takes all I am to not scare you away.

If that makes me clean