Selura

“Not all leaves are green,

And not all trees grow to last.”

CINDERELLA (1950)

To be completely honest… forgive me.

I dreamed I lay in your lap while you played with my hair, the way no one ever has. In my dreams, you always say goodbye. Every time, I lose the day, the week, and the month.

But I can't stop. I wish I could rest someday, but I can't. So many times I've died and killed myself, and I am still all that remains of me. There's an old wardrobe full of clothes that no longer fit me, and every now and then I say goodbye to things.

You are not things.

You will never be things.

You are… you.

There is no box you could be returned in.

You are… you.

I've knelt at the feet of the Divine. I've washed my head with shamanic leaves that lifted me from my bed and erased my addictions, and you… are you.

I know.

But every now and then, I pretend not to hear.

I almost forget the sound of your laughter, and I almost forget my own first name, but I remember your voice calling me, and I let it. I don't come apart. Now there are serious papers signed, a clock and a routine that I force myself not to betray out of exhaustion. I know that I only ever lay safely in your lap. I could close my eyes and taste something sweet in my mouth instead of the cold of a razor against my trachea.

That's why, my love, you will always be you.

As for the rest, I know.

In everything, you'll be alright. The future will come healthy, and your lap will remain a safe place.

You are… you.