#scandaal

your hands are shaking” you tell me. i say “it’s just a little cold out is all” i don’t say my body doesn’t seem to want to let you go. you look me in the eye, touch my arm softly and say “it doesn’t have to be like this, we can work this out” i respond not making eye contact. instead settling on a massive oak tree swaying slightly in the distance. i nod and tell you “yes, it does” and “i have to go” and “i’ll see you around sometime.” i don’t say i feel my heart in between my toes or that i don’t think my lungs will be able to breathe deeply for awhile. you have to understand how badly I want to blindly follow the pounding in my ribs straight into your arms but I’ve done that one too many times by now to know that I’ll suffocate before our hearts even have the chance to beat in sync. i drag my two thousand pound feet through the concrete, tripping on our happiest memories and landed hard on the last two months. i wipe the blood from my cut up hands on my light blue jeans and finish the walk home while picking gravel from my palms. i throw the jeans into the wash and put the kettle on and swear that i’m still shaking because the cool october weather has not settled on my bones yet and take a deep breath and whisper “i am alright. we deserve a faint epilogue” i don’t say getting up for a cup of tea seems too ambitious right now. the kettle whistles in response.

when you tell me you think you may be in love with me u have to understand that i was never made for this. at age 3, my mother left and took the kindness of my fathers heart with her. the giddy laughs were replaced by threatening screams and wet beds. ((i soon forgot fathers were meant to show love.)) at age 10, i finally saw my mother again. i still don’t understand how she stole my heart when her’s was no longer beating. ((“6 feet under is a good look for your mother, you should try it”)) at age 14, my sister(17) showed me that love was in fact capable of surrounding us. that even after the decade of being told we would never amount to anything, we learned that we could, at the very least, amount to a lover. however, we didn’t know what this would entail. her ribs were snapped off, one by one, leaving her exposed. the hot air from her boyfriends whispers set her heart on fire and were put out when there was nothing left but smoke and ashes. ((i lent her my lungs for a year.)) at age 15, i pretended to read lolita. i thought it would be pleasantly ironic, seeing you were inviting me into your 19 year old bones. ((i wish i had actually read the book so i would see that everyone just ends up fucked and dead.)) at age 16, i learned a new word. ((un·re·quit·ed ˌənrəˈkwīdəd/ adjective (of a feeling, especially love) not returned or rewarded.)) and now the word love means nothing to the burns on the back of my throat that have tasted so much worse than you so don’t doubt for a second that i won’t take a bite and spit you right out.

the left side of ur bed knew me better than u ever did and it’s too bad ur last girl liked to sleep on the right bc i fit snug into the craters of u like liquid while u were still dreaming that maybe one day u might smooth out to fill the ones left by her

cigarette stained fingers clutching crumpled thoughts from ex-lovers. goosebumps traveling from your toes to neck. spilled wine on bedroom carpet floors. concrete gray deepening in color from rain. late night tired eyes. catching your breath after laughing too hard on a humid day. baby pink skirt scrunched up above her belly button. dilated pupils from a cool touch.