#pc13

‘Tell me, Stephen, would you do me a kindness?’

i’ve forgotten how to write, it seems, it’s been so long. but i think if i remembered, i would say “the snow was lighter this year”, i would say “remember the time the blizzard locked us indoors for three days and you were the only one keeping me sane?”, i would say “every night i listen to the echoes of your voice whispering that you’d be there for me at midnight”, i would say “i miss you, i miss the way you loved me and the way i loved you back”. i would tell you, “i finished loving you but the promises left broken still tear me apart”, i would tell you “last year you told me i was special, that you loved me most, this year you haven’t even texted me once”, tell you “you promised you wouldn’t forget my birthday next year, you said you’d throw me a party even when i told you not to”. i’d ask you “please, even if you haven’t thought about me in months, think about me tonight”, ask you “do you ever regret any of it, choosing her?”, ask you “how have you been?”, ask you “please, tell me that you haven’t forgotten me”, then “at least if not me, then what we used to mean to each other?”, ask you “have you forgotten us?”, ask you “do you ever think about me?”, dread the answer.

On one's knees, begging

i’ve been a little lost since i learned how to love, a little undone, a little torn at the seams. stuffing is falling out of me from where my stomach should be and i’m clutching the needle and thread in my hand, stitching myself back up together as i bleed out. i’ve been patching myself together like a quilt and letting myself hang out to dry in the sun and returning each summer like morning dew. the teardrops on my face aren’t mine this time, standing out in the rain and closing my eyes. the butterflies have left my stomach and i can finally breathe freely without choking on their wings. old scabs turn into scars turn into faded skin, white marks barely visible next to the birthmarks littering my skin. i’ve been smiling towards the sun and drawing freckles on my face and learning how to laugh again. weeding my garden and cutting out all of the plants that have ever threatened to choke me except for the dandelions i can forgive, staring right through the friends i used to keep. i lay in the sun until i burn. draw a sunflower on my ankle. i smile.