I got Prompts

After I read her letter, I placed it back in its envelope and never took it out again. Somehow, it was too perfect; my name, the faint lipstick mark, the bulge of the pages folded awkwardly inside. I couldn’t bear to open it.

“I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to buy a wine that tastes like butter.”

“He keeps asking me about what inspires me, and that’s cute and all, but I don’t know what to say because most of my pieces are about him.”

“I think I’m just waiting for you to tell me I’m doing a good job. But also… part of me knows I wouldn’t believe you if you said it.”

I’ve finished cleaning myself. I know other people would see my wounds and the blood on my hands as disgusting, but I only feel a long awaited relief.

I return to my old haunts too often. They feel more like home than my bed does.

“Sorry, I promise I’ll actually start taking care of you. You’re going to have to wait until tomorrow, tho.”

“It feels like I’m using a butter knife to tackle a glacier.”

I may be a parental figure for this being, but this is not my child.

“I think the worst part is that I’m not actually crying. It feels like this should be enough to cry about.”

“I feel as though we have talked about everything and nothing.”

I dote on you so well, but sometimes I wonder if I only do all of this because he trained me to put my infatuations before my health.

“Someone asked if I ever had or have feelings for you; I said no and then I realized I was lying.”

I gave her an hour and she turned it into a day.